


Eitr

by HysteriaLevi



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HysteriaLevi/pseuds/HysteriaLevi
Summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.
Relationships: Sigurd Styrbjornson/Original Male Character
Comments: 26
Kudos: 40





	1. From the River He Came

**SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND**

**DAWN**

...The Allfather.

Sigurd could see him.

As he floated lifelessly in the water and traveled with the river’s current, he spotted the one-eyed god beckoning him from a distance, calling to him like a light piercing through the shadows.

The sounds of the Valkyries’ wings could be heard beating from within the fog, and in the darkness that shrouded the edges of his vision, Sigurd could’ve sworn he saw the faces of Odin’s einherjar, coming to greet him.

_...Was he dead?_ Sigurd wondered. Had his newfound wounds already claimed him? Was this the River Gjöll that he now traversed?

The viking couldn’t recall much, but the last thing he remembered was a sea of fire, engulfing everything in its path. Flames had consumed the entirety of his home, and even after the chaos subsided, the overlapping screams of his fellow clan members still echoed in his head like the distant toll of a bell.

He remembered Eivor’s voice calling out to him. The man had been searching for him in the battlefield ever since the ambush launched, but as fate would decree, they never had the chance to reunite.

A lone arrow had planted itself into Sigurd’s upper chest before they could regroup. And almost immediately after the first arrow was let loose, a second one promptly followed its path, impaling the fallen _drengr_ in the waist.

The impact sent Sigurd toppling into the river. He never got the opportunity to see if Eivor survived the ordeal, and now, hours later, he found himself being carried away into one of the many foreign shires of England, ready to meet his end.

Contrary to what the viking expected though, the Nornir had other plans for him. They knew Sigurd to be a warrior at heart, and they knew it burned with a newfound passion for revenge.

And so, with a tug of the thread, the Nornir adjusted Sigurd’s course and sent him floating onto the shores of a Saxon settlement, releasing him from death’s embrace.

The viking may have interpreted the action as a punishment, seeing as how he was now on hostile land... but the gods had given it to him as a blessing.

He now had a chance to rest. A chance to heal. To fight back.

The Saxons would soon know his wrath, and they would know what it meant to attack the Raven Clan.

But first, Sigurd had to regain his strength. He had to recover from his wounds, and wait for the right moment to strike. 

Revenge was always a winding path, after all -- full of twists and turns -- and it would start right here in Wedenscire. 

In the very home of the ealdorman who wished his clan dead.

Feeling a sudden burst of energy spark inside him, Sigurd’s eyes snapped open as he finally returned to consciousness and washed up onto the shore, lying motionlessly under a shower of rain.

His body burned with the sting of a hundred cuts, and as the arrows’ tips dug deeper into his flesh, he felt a rough wheeze escape from his battered lungs, causing a cloud of mist to rise from his dried lips.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t shout. He could hardly even breathe.

But with the shrill whispers of the half-rotten goddess slithering in his ear, and the eyes of Nidhogg gazing down upon him, Sigurd knew he couldn’t allow himself to give up. 

Letting out a pained groan, Sigurd steadily turned onto his side before reaching a hand out and digging his fingers into the dirt below, attempting to rise to his feet.

He didn’t know where he was, or how far the river had taken him, but based on the unfamiliar architecture that occupied this town, Sigurd assumed he had landed in Saxon territory.

Oddly enough though, no one was around. 

The settlement seemed deserted at the moment. Not a single soul occupied the barren streets underneath the fading moonlight, and with the walking corpse that now crawled its way out of their river, Sigurd could’ve only imagined how he must’ve looked to the locals.

He had no idea how hospitable they would be to a Norse stranger washing up on their shores, but for the sake of making it through the night, Sigurd prayed they would display their Christ’s compassion that he had heard so much about.

It was the only hope he had at this point. With no other people around to save him, and his life in the hands of the gods, Sigurd really had no one else to rely on except for those he would’ve called enemy.

It was an ordeal laden with irony, Sigurd thought, to be at the mercy of those he wronged in the past. But considering how the gods had been kind enough to guide him along the river and deliver him to civilization, the warrior hoped that, perhaps, they didn’t plan on letting him die just yet.

Finally reaching his breaking point, Sigurd collapsed to his knees when a surge of pain pulsed throughout his body, sending him crashing to the ground.

His breath was even more jagged than before, and with wet mud now seeping into his fresh wounds, Sigurd felt as if his skin was on fire.

Thankfully though, in the golden beams of the rising sun, he could’ve sworn he saw the silhouette of a man walking up to him. He didn’t appear to be any sort of guardsman or soldier, and judging by the lack of a weapon in his possession, Sigurd assumed that he was merely a civilian. 

The Norse warrior reached out to the man, wheezing out a series of incoherent words.

“...Y-You there. Help me... please...”

The man hurriedly kneeled down beside him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Lord above,” he whispered in shock, observing Sigurd’s wounds. “What on earth happened to you? Who are you? Where did you come from? Can you hear me? Hello?”

Before Sigurd could utter a response, he felt his mind slipping away into the darkness once again, leaving the other man to his own thoughts. He could feel the sensation of being picked up and moved around, but due to the blurriness that now clouded his vision, he had no idea if the man actually intended to help him.

Regardless of what was happening though, part of Sigurd suspected that this wasn’t the end just yet. Something about the pain that burned inside him ignited a unique sense of strength that he had never experienced before -- and from the deepest depths of the agony that coursed through his veins, Sigurd summoned an undying determination to survive.

He _had_ to live, for Eivor’s sake. He refused to believe that the man had been killed during the attack, and he had every intention of finding him once he regained his strength.

If his brother turned out to be dead, though... then Sigurd vowed that he would spend the rest of his days hunting down those responsible. He would rain the very fires of Muspelheim itself upon them, and ensure that even in death, they would never know peace.

But for the time being, he simply left his future in the hands of the Nornir. He knew not what they had planned for him in this small Saxon town, but if it meant taking the first step in his journey to recovery, then he was willing to do whatever the gods demanded of him.

Valhalla was a gift only warriors received, after all, and if he was truly fated to die in these unknown lands, Sigurd intended to go out fighting.

Just as Odin would’ve wanted.


	2. Savior

**FORANGAL CASTLE, WEDENSCIRE**

**MORNING** ****

Hurrying down the steps of the castle as her dress frolicked around her legs, Lady Edlynne rushed to catch up with her brothers before they could scurry off into town without her, and leave her at the mercy of Bishop Hundwerth once again.

Apparently, the head chef of the castle was in need of some trout for the meal she had planned for this evening, but instead of relying on one of her servants like she normally did, the ealdorman’s sons had offered to fetch it for her, and were preparing to leave from the main gate.

Unfortunately for Edlynne however, her name had been left out of their festivities as per usual, and thus left the girl at a disadvantage considering how she only learned of their plans mere moments ago.

But this time, she was not willing to stay back as she normally did. The dreary walls of the castle had caged her in for far too long already, and with Hundwerth constantly hammering his piety in her ears, the young noblewoman was in desperate need of some fresh air.

Jogging up to the main gate, Edlynne found her brothers conversing at the stable as they readied their horses for the journey ahead, giving them a light snack to start off the new day.

Her twin brother, Joseph, was currently sat on top of a rather wobbly looking fence with an apple in his hand, but seemed to fare alright thanks to his lean frame. He was only a boy of sixteen years and hardly stood any taller than his sister, but even then, some still considered him to be particularly scrawny for a nobleman.

As for their elder brother, Edric, his appearance was more akin to that of a soldier than a lord. Despite not even being thirty years of age yet, the young man already had his fair share of battle scars and sported a rough beard, giving him a much more weathered temperament than his father probably would’ve liked.

He constantly carried a sword around with him and armored himself with a black gambeson, but still made sure that the cross hanging from his neck was visible underneath the collar of his cape.

Both of them were a welcome sight to see after Edlynne’s many days of being trapped in the castle, but with the absence of their eldest brother Gareth looming over them like a stormy cloud, she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sadness suddenly gripping at her heart.

“Joseph, Edric!” She exclaimed, running up to them. “Wait!”

The two boys turned their heads towards her, clearly surprised to see her face this morning.

“Sister,” Joseph greeted, “I didn’t expect to see _you_ here today. It’s been ages since I last saw you out in the sun. Will you be joining us in town?”

Edlynne sighed out of annoyance. “God, I hope so. Bishop Hundwerth hasn’t dared take his eyes off me ever since I spoke of my interest in the Danes’ religion. He fears that their influence will corrupt me.”

Edric chuckled at that. “You thinking of converting to paganism, Edlynne?”

“Hardly,” she denied. “I will always be a Christian at heart, but I do not think it is wrong to have an interest in other religions either. How can we expect to resolve the conflict in our shire if we will not even attempt to understand our enemies?”

Joseph took a bite out of his apple. “Well, some people would consider that to be heresy.”

Edlynne crossed her arms. “Some people would see us at war for another century.”

The eldest threw a grin at his brother. “You hear that, Joseph? Wise beyond her years, this one. We should give her a seat next to father.”

Edlynne smiled in response. “You jest, but I’ll have you know that father _has_ sought my counsel in the past. He spoke to me last night, in fact. Though... it’s not very often he actually _listens_ to me, I’ll admit.”

Joseph hopped off the fence. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure he doesn’t hear of your fascination with the Danes. You know of his feelings for them.”

The girl’s expression drooped with sorrow. “Yes, I do. He’s changed so much ever since... well, you know.”

Falling into a state of heartache, the young woman quickly snapped out of her grief when she realized how she had dampened the mood and forced herself to push her thoughts aside, not wanting them to overtake her again. 

“But... let us not dwell on that. You two have a busy day ahead of you, and my chances of getting any fresh air dwindle with every minute Hundwerth isn’t near me. So let’s get going.”

Edric climbed on top of his horse, taking hold of the reins. “Alright. Edlynne, you go with Joseph. I’ll take my own mount. We’ll ride the path west of here, and cut through the woods into Agenbury. It’ll take longer, but the main roads are laden with soldiers nowadays. I’d rather not weave my way through them.”

Taking a seat behind her brother as he plopped himself onto the saddle, Edlynne wrapped her arms around Joseph’s waist and held him tightly as the three of them began trotting through the main gate, bidding the castle farewell.

It was a bright morning today, blotted with only a few clouds. The sun shone freely throughout the sky despite the residue from the recent storm, and thanks to the rain that poured on Wedenscire the previous night, a fresh layer of mist hung over the land, catching the light in a fashion that was worthy of paintings.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Edlynne remarked. “And also much colder than I remember. Though, that’s probably due to the storm. Still, it’s nice to be outside of the castle walls again. I can’t recall the last time father allowed me to leave. Thank you both for letting me come with you.”

“Of course,” Joseph replied. “I fear that Edric and I were also in need of some time away from Forangal. That’s why we volunteered to help Nelda. The poor old woman’s practically locked herself in the larder this morning, trying to prepare this meal for us.”

“How _is_ Nelda?” Edlynne asked. “I’ve not spoken to her in ages.”

“Oh, you know her,” Joseph said sarcastically. “Cranky, old bat as usual. Still the same woman that used to chase us around the castle after we’d steal the treats when we were children.”

Edric butted in. “And then blame _me_ for it.”

Joseph laughed at that. “Do you remember that one time Edlynne and I brought in that stray cat from the streets? And we accidentally left it alone in the kitchens? The wretched animal had buried its face in a meal she was making for father, and sent it spilling all over to the floor. I thought Nelda was going to butcher us _all_ that day -- cat included.”

“Oh, don’t remind me. She dragged the two of you fools over to me later that day and shouted with a fury so hot that I could’ve sworn I saw flames on her breath. Gareth had to calm her down whilst _we_ ended up cleaning the kitchen.”

Edlynne smiled at the memory. “Gareth always had a way with Nelda. He knew how to ease her temper.”

“Indeed,” Joseph said. “Though, I think he had that effect on everyone. Something about him always brought peace to other peoples’ hearts. He knew how to unify them in times of division, and comfort them in times of war.” 

A morose sigh escaped the sullen boy. “Things will... not be the same without him around. I know it’s been over a month since he died, but... I fear the wounds are still fresh.”

“Aye.” Edric agreed quietly. “He was a good brother to us all. And an even better friend. It was a tragic loss, the day he died. I think father’s taken the brunt of it.”

A sudden thought crossed the man’s mind. “Edlynne, you said you spoke with him last night?”

The girl nodded. “I did.”

“And... how did he seem? Did he seem better to you?”

Edlynne stuttered, unsure of how to describe their encounter. “I... I don’t know, to be honest. He appeared to be doing alright, but it felt like he was wearing a mask. As if... he was simply putting on a strong face for everyone else’s sake. Deep down though, I think he’s still hurting.”

“Of course he is,” Edric noted. “He lost one of his children. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare.”

Joseph raised a question. “What exactly happened to Gareth, anyway? I know he was killed near Grantebridge, but father has yet to give us any further details.”

“That’s because you would not wish to hear them,” his brother explained. “Believe me. All you need to know is that a clan of Danes killed him. The Raven Clan, specifically.”

The name was unfamiliar to Edlynne. “The Raven Clan? Who are they?”

“You haven’t heard of them? They’ve been causing quite a stir in Mercia -- killing kings and crowning new ones. From what I understand, they’re the ones who helped the Ragnarssons remove Burgred from his throne.”

“But why kill Gareth?” Joseph asked. “What could they possibly gain from killing the son of an ealdorman? Aside from a lifetime of conflict, that is.”

Edric sighed solemnly. “I do not know their reasons, nor their justifications. But you would do well not to get caught up on it. All that matters now is that Gareth is at peace. He was a devote Christian, and he now joins our mother in Heaven, forever to be at God’s side. He would not want us to sulk. So keep your chins up -- both of you -- and let us carry on with our day.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A WHILE LATER**

**AGENBURY**

Finally arriving at Agenbury, the three siblings slowed down to a halt as the peaceful settlement came into view, decorating the flat horizon with a quaint series of houses and shops.

The quiet town seemed to be the same as usual -- lunatics and all -- and despite the hefty toll the war had taken on its people, everything appeared to be in working order.

The fisherman’s wife, Ardith, remained attached to her husband’s stall as always, and with the unpleasant stench of freshly-captured fish to start off her morning, the permanent scowl on her face only seemed to deepen.

“There’s Ardith,” Edric pointed out. “She’ll have the trout we need.” He climbed off of his horse, leaving it near the main entrance. “Come along then, you two. Let’s finish this quickly.”

Mirroring their brother’s actions, Joseph and Edlynne unmounted their horse before following the young man into town, hanging behind him as he navigated his way through the scattered groups of civilians.

Many of the town’s residents seemed to eye the noble family with a wary gaze -- which was uncommon for their people -- and the further they stepped into the watchful settlement, the more everyone’s voices seemed to lower into hushed tones.

“Is it just me,” Joseph whispered among them, “or does it feel... odd here today?”

Edlynne narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “No, it’s definitely not just you. The people here seem frightened. It’s almost like the whole town is... waiting for something. Do you reckon something happened before we arrived?”

“It’s most likely because of the war,” Edric assumed. “I know the conflicts in Wedenscire have had a rough impact on these people. Who knows what kind of horrors they’ve had to endure at the hands of the Danes? Though... there don’t seem to be any signs of a raid.”

Joseph disagreed. “If there had been a raid, we would’ve heard about it. This is something different.”

“I suppose we’ll find out, given enough time. Just keep your wits about you, and try not to alarm anyone.”

Carrying on with their plans, the three of them casually walked up to Ardith’s stall as the woman focused on organizing her collection of fish, stopping only to greet the peculiar customers that had suddenly shown up at her shop.

“Hello, Ardith.” Edric said, deterring the woman’s attention.

“Oh, good morning, milord!” She said in surprise. “I was not expecting to see you here today. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m just here to pick up some trout for Nelda back at the castle.”

The stout woman rested a hand on her hip. “Ah, I see. Normally, it’s her servants that come by, but I won’t turn away a friendly face.”

Her expression grew dim. “I’m... so sorry about what happened to Gareth, Edric. We received the news not too long ago. He was loved by many people in Agenbury. It’s such a shame that he had to depart from this world in so brutal a manner. He will be missed.”

Edric nodded in agreement. “Indeed. His death has affected us all, I fear.”

“And Aegenwulf? How does your father fare?”

The young man shrugged in uncertainty. “Hard to say. He keeps his head high and does what he must to protect this shire, but he bears the burdens of twenty men combined. I do not envy his position.”

Ardith gave him a look of sympathy. “Aye. But have no fear, Edric. Your father’s always been a fighter. Trust me. I’ve known him since before he had any grey in his hair. He _will_ come through. I know he will.”

“Thank you, friend. Your words bring me comfort.”

Joseph jumped into the conversation, inquiring about the rest of the town. “Ardith, do you have any idea why Agenbury’s so on edge today? The town carries a strange mood.”

The woman nearly offered a response, but bit her tongue in hesitance. “Y-Yes, but I do not wish to burden you with our troubles, young lord. I imagine you’ve enough of your own already.”

Edlynne took a step towards the stall. “Please, Ardith. If something has happened in this town, we’d like to help. You’re our people, after all.”

Ardith let out a deep sigh and crossed her arms, glancing back at her house.

“I-It’s my husband, Wilfred,” she said quietly. “He went fishing at the harbor this morning as he always does, but... instead of returning with a sack of fish, he came back with a bloody Dane...!”

Edric paused in alarm upon hearing that. _“What?_ A Dane? In Agenbury?”

“Believe me, I was just as shocked as you. Apparently, Wilfred found him washed up on the shore, beaten and wounded. By whom or what, I don’t know, but he already looked dead by the time my husband dragged him back.”

Joseph decided to ask for more information. “Do you have any idea who he is? Or where he came from?”

Ardith shook her head. “No. We’ve yet to speak to him. He’s been unconscious ever since Wilfred brought him back from the harbor.”

The boy let out an uneasy breath. “Father’s not going to like this. He’s been tense enough already ever since Gareth died. If he finds out that a Dane has infiltrated the town...”

Edlynne cut him off. “He won’t. Not yet.”

Her twin quirked a brow. “What do you mean, not yet? He’s the ealdorman, for God’s sake. He has to know.”

“We _can’t_ tell him about this. Not for the moment, at least. If father learns about this Dane’s presence, he’ll have him killed for sure.”

Edric scowled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The noblewoman remained staunch in her belief. “Listen, both of you -- I know everyone’s still hurting from Gareth’s death, and believe me, I am too. But we could learn something from this Dane. He might be useful to us.”

Edric wasn’t entirely convinced yet. “We don’t even know if this man speaks our tongue, Edlynne. And if he does, there’s no guarantee he’ll help us anyways. You know the Danes. They’d rather pick death over dishonor.”

“Even then, I’d like to be certain of what this man’s intentions are before we start lopping off anyone’s heads. Let me speak to him, at least.”

Edric sighed in defeat, crossing his arms. “...Very well. If that is what you wish. But be careful, sister. We have no idea who this man is. And I’d rather we return to the castle in one piece.”

The young man turned back to Ardith, trying to calm the woman’s nerves. “Have no fear, old friend. We’ll speak to this Dane for you. He need not worry you any longer.”

She seemed pleased with that. “Thank you, Edric. I think everyone would feel better if we knew who he was, or why he was here. He should still be at home.”

“Then I will go there,” Edlynne said. “Joseph can come with me whilst you conclude your business here, brother. That way, we can get things done faster.”

“Alright,” Edric agreed. “I’ll meet you there once I’m finished here. Don’t do anything drastic before I arrive.”

The girl gave him a reassuring nod. “Of course.” She turned to her twin, beckoning him to follow. “Come on, Joseph. Let’s go see this Dane for ourselves.”

Allowing their paths to diverge for the moment, Edlynne and Joseph made their way to Wilfred’s house while Edric stayed behind to collect the fish for Nelda, clearly still unsettled by the strange turn of events.

He understood it was unfair to judge one Dane based on the actions of many others, but in a time of war, compassion and empathy were always a dangerous thing to gamble with.

Edric knew details about Gareth’s death that the twins didn’t. He knew how the Danes had butchered him and left his body for the ravens, and he knew that their people were not so easily negotiated with.

But still... he supposed he could let Edlynne investigate this Dane’s sudden appearance, at the very least. He may have been skeptical of this man’s motivations, but he could not deny that he was curious to learn the truth for himself.

And so, without another word said, Edric simply let the twins go about their business as he continued his conversation with Ardith, eager to get this errand over with.

Meanwhile, Edlynne and Joseph walked side-by-side as they approached the fisherman’s house, speculating amongst themselves about what this Dane could’ve possibly wanted. It wasn’t uncommon for a Northman to be in Wedenscire exactly, but Agenbury was a different story.

“A single Dane showing up on our shores...” Edlynne murmured, “what could it mean?”

Joseph shrugged nervously. “Nothing good, that’s for certain. I’m aware that not all of them are barbarians as Hundwerth would have us believe, but tensions have been rising ever since Gareth was killed. If we don’t sort this situation out properly, it could reach a breaking point.”

“Then let us make haste, lest it comes to that.”

Strolling up to the fisherman’s front door, Joseph firmly knocked on the wooden surface as the two of them waited for a response, silently observing the quiet house.

There didn’t seem to be much activity happening inside -- probably due to the Dane’s unconscious state -- and the only sounds they could hear were the rapid footsteps of a man coming to greet them at the door.

“Pardon my untidiness, whoever you are,” a gruff voice said from the inside as they moved around some objects to clear the way, “but I fear things have been rather... _disorderly_ this morning.”

The fisherman swung open the door, revealing an old but lively man standing in the entryway.

“Now, then, how can I--” He came to a halt, his eyes widening in surprise upon seeing the twins. 

“Lord Joseph...! And sweet Lady Edlynne. Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see _you_ two here today. I suppose this morning’s just chock-full of unlikely guests, isn’t it? What brings you to my doorstep?”

Joseph beamed at the elderly man. “Hello, Wilfred. Your wife sent us. She said you had a... Dane problem?

Wilfred scratched the bald patch on his head, sighing in discontent. “Aye. The poor bastard. I found him this morning, lying unconscious and alone. He was laden with battle wounds, and covered in blood. I don’t have a clue why the river shat him out in Agenbury of all places, but I wasn’t about to leave a man to die. Saxon or not.”

Edlynne admired his compassion. “Then you’ve already done more than most. Has he woken up yet?”

“Nay. He’s been out cold ever since I brought him back. He spoke briefly when we first met, but it was mostly out of delirium. Couldn’t understand a word he said. You know the Danes. Bloody weird language, they have.”

“May we see him?” Joseph asked. “We’d like to speak with this man ourselves, if possible.”

Wilfred stepped off to the side, granting them entrance. “Of course. Do what you wish. Though, I’m not sure if he’ll wake up during your stay here. He was in a severely bad state when I found him.”

Strolling through the front door, Joseph and Edlynne welcomed themselves into the cozy atmosphere of Wilfred’s home as they gazed around in curiosity, anxious to see what this Dane looked like.

Joseph had already met a few of their people during his time with Edric and Gareth, but Edlynne on the other hand, had yet to meet a Dane for herself. Aegenwulf often kept them at a distance when it came to interactions with his daughter, and now that he had lost one of his own children to their axes, the girl imagined he would only grow more protective.

“Look,” she said with a soft gasp, “there he is.”

Following his sister’s line of sight, Joseph spotted the fallen Dane sleeping on the opposite side of the room, seemingly undisturbed.

He was currently resting on a makeshift bed that Wilfred had created, and was wrapped head-to-toe in an abundance of bandages. He looked like he was still breathing -- for the time being -- but just based on the amount of blood that was already seeping from his skin, Joseph started to wonder if they’d even get a chance to see him wake.

He appeared rather normal though, the boy thought. For a Dane. His skin was etched with many traditional Nordic markings, and the red hair on his head had been shaved in a fashion common with his people. Meanwhile, his beard remained bushy and untamed, and the calloused texture of his hands told Joseph he was no stranger to battle.

“Friendly looking fellow, isn’t he.” The boy remarked.

Edlynne walked closer to the man, driven by her fascination.

“I’ve... never seen a Dane before. Father has always done his best to keep me away from them, but... he looks surprisingly human. Bishop Hundwerth always makes it sound as if they’re the Devil himself roaming the earth.”

Joseph took a seat on a nearby chair. “Bishop Hundwerth would call it heresy if one of his priests farted too loudly in the chapel. Pay him no mind.”

The noblewoman turned back to the fisherman, asking him more questions.

“Wilfred, what was he like when you found him? I know you said he was hurt, but... _how_ hurt, exactly?”

The old man exhaled deeply, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I’m surprised he was alive to begin with. He had two bloody arrows sticking out of his chest, and his skin was torn up from getting sliced so many times. I don’t know much about their pagan gods, but they must be a protective bunch to pull him out of _that.”_

Joseph thought back to their talk with Ardith. “Your wife said you found him on the shore?”

“Indeed. I assume the river carried him here from upstream. Possibly from the north. He crawled out of it like a corpse rising from the dead.”

“Do you think he’ll live?”

Wilfred furrowed his brow in a grim manner. “I... I don’t know, Joseph. I’ve done everything I can to patch him up, but I’m just a simple fisherman at the end of the day. I’m no healer.”

Interrupting their conversation, a knock suddenly emitted from the door, leading all of them to bring their attention to the entrance.

“That must be Edric.” Joseph announced. 

Allowing their new guest to come in, Wilfred stepped over the many items scattered around the house before opening the door, revealing Edric on the other side.

“Ah, hello, milord. Your siblings are here already.”

The young man poked his head in, greeting the twins with a new sack of fish on his shoulder.

“Well?” He said, walking into the house. “Have you two learned anything?”

Joseph shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. We’re fairly certain the river carried the Dane here from upstream, but other than that... all we have is speculation.”

Edric strode towards them, kneeling beside his sister. “Speculation won’t do us any good. We need to know for _sure_ who he is, and what he wants. I assume he hasn’t woken up yet?”

“No. He’s been unconscious this whole time. We don’t even know if he’ll survive.”

Wilfred joined their side, offering his advice to Edric. “As I was explaining to your brother earlier, milord, the only way this Dane is going to survive is if you get him in the hands of a healer. I’ve done what I can to buy him some time, but... without proper medical treatment, I fear he may pass soon.”

Edlynne’s expression lit up with an idea. “Linette! Back at the castle! She could look after him. She knows what she’s doing.”

The look on Edric’s face alone was enough to make his disapproval clear. “What? You want to bring a Dane back to the castle? After what just happened with Gareth?”

“I know it’s risky,” the young woman conceded, “but he’s dying, Edric. He needs our help.”

“So do many of our _own_ people.” He countered. “We need to save our resources for those we can trust; those who will fight for us. Not stray Danes that wash up on our shores.”

Edlynne almost appeared offended at that. “Brother, do you hear yourself? This man’s life is in our hands, and you’re willing to just throw it away? All because he’s a Dane?”

The older man fell silent for a moment, admittedly feeling somewhat ashamed of his words, but still obstinate in his opinion. 

“I know it’s harsh, Edlynne, but you’ve not seen the horrors that have occurred between our people and the Danes. We’d be foolish to trust one, especially when we have no idea who he is. There’s also the fact that we’d have to keep his presence a secret. Until he wakes up, at least.”

“I think it’s worth it if it means we can save a life,” she replied. “I understand your fear, brother, but what sort of Christians would we be if simply stood by and watched this man die? His being a pagan doesn’t make him any less deserving of our help.”

Edric grew frustrated with his sister’s naivety. “It’s not just about the religion, Edlynne. It’s also about the war. There’s no love lost between Saxons and Danes, and for good reason. How do you think our friend here is going to react when he wakes up in a foreign castle, surrounded by hostile forces?”

The young woman frowned. “And what if he has a clan? What if they come looking for him? How do you think _they’ll_ react when they find out we simply left him to die?”

Joseph shrugged in agreement. “She raises a fair point, Edric. If we help this man and he turns out to hate the Saxons, so what? We’ll have a castle full of guardsmen fighting against a single Dane. But if we _don’t_ help him and his clan comes looking for him, we’ll have an entire army to deal with, plus anyone who’s allied with them. I say we bring him back. How much harm could he do in this condition, anyways?”

Edric sighed in defeat, finding himself at a loss for words. He really wasn’t fond of the idea of bringing a stranger back into the midst of their home -- especially when that stranger was a viking -- but deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do.

After all, what good was he as a Christian if he was not even willing to help those in need? He may have distrusted the Danes for their crimes in the past, but on the other hand, he had no way of indicating that this particular man had any similar motives.

For all he knew, this could’ve just been some poor soul who had gotten caught in the crossfire, and left for dead. There was nothing that could prove he had any intentions of doing wrong by their people, and... perhaps it would’ve been cruel to assume otherwise without even giving him a chance to wake up.

“...Alright, you two.” Edric finally said. “We’ll bring the Dane back to the castle.”

Edlynne beamed with appreciation. “You mean it?”

“Yes, but this will not bode well with father.”

Joseph dismissed the warning. “Father is blinded by his grief. He’ll understand eventually.”

Edric stood up from the floor and handed the sack of trout to his brother, giving him a new set of instructions.

“Here, take this. Ride back to Forangal. I’ll bring the Dane with me, and meet you two at Linette’s clinic later.”

Joseph groaned in effort as he lugged the sack over his shoulder, surprised at how heavy it was.

“Sounds good. Stay safe on the way back, brother. We promise not to tell father about this.”

“Good.”

Bringing his attention to Wilfred, Edric took out a few pieces of silver and placed them in the man’s hands, giving him an appreciative nod.

“Here, Wilfred. For your troubles.”

The fisherman smiled warmly. “Thank you, Edric. You’re far too kind.”

The nobleman chuckled. “My sister would disagree.”

Making their way out of Wilfred’s house, the siblings finally took their leave from Agenbury and swiftly returned to the stables, eager to ride back to the castle. They had no idea how well they’d be able to keep this a secret, considering all the prying eyes at Forangal, but the three of them were determined to ensure this man’s survival.

He could’ve been the key to all the conflicts that had arisen in Wedenscire. So many fights had broken out in the past few years between their people and the Danes, that a part of Edlynne hoped their new friend’s presence would help to ease the tensions. 

Though, she couldn’t help but wonder if her elder brother was right. What if Edric turned out to be correct, and this Dane only ended up causing _more_ trouble? Was it wise to trust a man so blindly?

Probably not, but that didn’t hinder her desire to help the wounded man. He was completely at their mercy in his current condition, and Edlynne did not have the heart to cast him aside, regardless of the risks.

So, with a nervous heart, the young woman simply followed her brothers out of town and prepared herself for the journey ahead, praying that it would not end in more bloodshed. She knew how adamant their father was in his hatred for Danes, and she hoped that he would be able to see past the grief that still held onto him so tightly.

Gareth would’ve vouched for peace, after all. He always favored the diplomatic route over unnecessary violence, and in light of recent events, Edlynne imagined he would’ve wanted them to save this man too.

It was the only right thing to do, Edlynne thought. And she did not intend diminish her brother’s legacy.


	3. Revenant

**TWO DAYS LATER**

**FORANGAL CASTLE, THE CHAPEL**

Placing his hands together, Ealdorman Aegenwulf bowed his head in respect and gently shut his eyes closed, whispering a brief prayer as he stood before the chapel’s great Crucifix.

At the moment, there was no one else in here with him. The chapel was dim and grey due to its enclosed nature, and the only light that managed to seep in was through the circular window that stood aloft the lonely altar.

Strangely enough though, Aegenwulf found a sense of peace in it. He had spent so much time warring with the Danes and battling against his own grief, that the overwhelming silence of the chapel actually provided him with some tranquility.

It was the only place where he could be alone with his thoughts nowadays. Outside of these stone cold walls, everyone always seemed to be watching him; studying him. Waiting to see his next move.

And on top of that, he still had three other children to protect, in spite of losing his eldest. They were young and inexperienced, and less aware of the war’s cruelties than Gareth had been.

It was a responsibility that Aegenwulf wished on no man. The weight of his burdens often felt impossible at times, and the more the tensions began to rise in Wedenscire, the more the ealdorman found himself wondering if any of this was even worth it.

“O, Father,” he said softly, his voice low and desolate, “thou who watches us from the heavens. Forgive me of my sins, and free me of the darkness that troubles my soul. I fear this war has led me astray from the path of righteousness, and I do not wish to deviate from Your grace. Please, deliver unto the dead the paradise they could not find in this world, and protect those who still stand from the evil that would sheathe them. ”

He paused for a moment, trying to keep his composure. “...Guide my son as he finds his way into your kingdom, and embrace him with the peace that was robbed of him in death. Allow him to rest at your side, and eradicate any shadows that should linger in his heart. Teach him not to fear, for I know he is in a far better place now.”

The ealdorman brought his hands closer to his face, muttering one last word. _“Soþlice.”_

Standing up from the floor, Aegenwulf fell into a profound silence as the lingering echoes of his prayer bounced off the chapel’s walls, filling the air with a solemn chime.

He knew not whether God could actually hear his cries, or if He had any intentions of answering them, but in a time when comfort was so rare to find, Aegenwulf frankly didn’t care.

All he needed was peace. The death of his son had torn him apart with a grief unlike any other he had ever experienced, and as the days rolled by -- minute by minute, hour by hour -- the ealdorman found himself being drained of the tenacity he once held.

It seemed pointless sometimes, to come to this chapel. Very often, Aegenwulf felt as if his prayers fell on deaf ears, and considering how the flames of the war were rising so rapidly, part of him began to wonder if this was all part of God’s plan somehow.

Was there a meaning behind all this? Some sort of higher purpose that was being written in the blood of their fallen soldiers? Did their suffering actually contribute to anything? Or was this all simply a result of man’s nature, and the chaos that humankind often sowed?

He didn’t even know if there was a Heaven at this point. The brutalities between the Saxons and the Danes had become so horrific in the recent years, that Aegenwulf found it more and more difficult to believe that anything pure awaited them beyond their realm.

How could it even be possible for something like that to exist? In a world where death, hatred, and pestilence were so prominent, how was it that something as perfect as Heaven -- or as God Himself -- could’ve been somewhere out there, watching over them?

Aegenwulf didn’t know the answers to these questions, nor where to find them, but for the sake of granting his son the afterlife he deserved, and for preserving his _own_ sanity, the ealdorman decided to not second-guess it. It was the only hope he had anymore, after all. And he did not wish to snuff it out.

“Ealdorman?” Someone suddenly said, drawing the man’s attention away from the altar.

Aegenwulf glanced over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn the rest of his body.

“Hundwerth,” he greeted dourly, recognizing the man’s unscrupulous voice. “Solitude is a luxury in Forangal these days. I would not have it robbed of me.”

The bishop bowed his head apologetically, approaching the ealdorman. “Forgive me for the intrusion, my lord. I know you come here for solace. But I fear there is a much more urgent matter that requires your attention.”

Aegenwulf sighed, returning to his more dutiful temperament. “What is it? And speak plainly, bishop, for I have no desire to run around in semantic circles.”

Hundwerth came to a halt, standing directly in the sliver of light that poured in through the doorway. “Your housecarl, Algar, has returned from his travels. He brings news of the ambush in Ravensthorpe, and awaits you in the throne room.”

“He’s back already?”

“Indeed. He seemed rather confident when he arrived this morning. I assume things went well in Ravensthorpe.”

Aegenwulf stepped away from the altar, addressing the bishop more directly now.

“Assume nothing in war, Hundwerth. I will not rest easy until I know for a _fact_ that those barbarians lie dead in the muck. Are my children aware of this attack?”

Hundwerth shook his head. “No, my lord. They asked a few questions in light of Algar’s absence, but overall, they still seem to be preoccupied with mourning their brother.”

The ealdorman was relieved at the news. “Good. They keep a strong face, but I can see that Gareth’s death has shaken them all. I would not have them burdened by the troubles of this war as well.”

The bishop changed the subject, eager to inform Aegenwulf of the second issue. “There is... _one_ othermatter, my lord. And I fear this one will require a much more delicate approach. That is, if you do not wish to alarm all of Forangal and Agenbury at once.”

Aegenwulf didn’t like where this was going. “Oh? And what would that be?”

Hundwerth began pacing around the chapel, lowering his voice as he spoke.

“Your healer, Linette. I noticed she’s been acting rather... odd, recently. Different. Granted, she’s never really been an ordinary woman, but her behavior has shifted over the past two days, and _not_ in a manner that I would consider beneficial.”

“What type of behavior are we talking about, exactly?”

“She’s become distant. Secretive. Perhaps even a little paranoid. I’ve seen her pacing around the castle late at night, and making trips to the infirmary underneath the shadows. She speaks to no one during these mysterious endeavors, and often seems to actively avoid me. It’s almost as if... there’s something she would not have me know.”

The ealdorman shrugged. “So, you wish for me to investigate? Is that it?”

“No, my lord,” Hundwerth corrected. “For I have already taken the liberty of doing that myself. I entered the infirmary this morning whilst Linette was away, and found the most _interesting_ patient lying in one of her beds.”

Aegenwulf grew tired of the bishop’s ramblings. “Get to the point, Hundwerth. What did you see?”

“A Dane, Aegenwulf. Your healer has a Dane in her infirmary, and is tending to his wounds as we speak.”

The ealdorman froze upon hearing that, not entirely sure if he understood Hundwerth correctly.

“A Dane,” he repeated sternly. “My healer is lending her aid to a _Dane._ Are you certain of this, bishop?”

The other man nodded assuredly. “As certain as I am that the moon will arise in the evening. Though, I shouldclarify, it was not Linette who brought this pagan into our midst. Based on the information I have gathered thus far, I believe she is helping this Dane at the behest of your daughter, Edlynne.”

Aegenwulf shook his head in frustration. “Oh, Edlynne... that naive girl. She carries the same compassion her mother once did, but I fear her rationality is often overshadowed by it in these situations.”

Hundwerth furrowed his brow in disapproval. “She has also been rather vocal about her interest in the Danes before, I’m afraid. It seems your daughter is drawn to them.”

“That’s because she has not witnessed the same horrors I have. She has not seen the way those savages sacrifice our people to their gods, nor what they do to our women. Edlynne believes the Danes to be misunderstood, and would have me welcome them with open arms. What she does not realize is that I am simply trying to protect her.”

“She is but a child, my lord. She _will_ soon understand the necessity of your iron fist. Just give her time.”

Aegenwulf sighed, crossing his arms. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So, what do you intend to do about this issue concerning Linette? Shall I have the guards remove this pagan from our grounds?”

The ealdorman thought about it for a moment. “No. That won’t be enough. I know Danes. They never stop fighting until their last breath. If we wish to be rid of this man completely, we will need to kill him.”

Aegenwulf began making his way out of the chapel, swiftly heading to the throne room as his cape fluttered behind him.

“I shall speak with Algar and get his opinion on the matter. He has just returned from the very nest of these snakes, and I would like to hear what he has to say before taking any action.”

Hundwerth seemed content with the plan. “A wise approach, my lord. I shall be here in the chapel if you need my assistance. Stay safe in these trying times, for I worry things are only going to get worse.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A FEW MINUTES LATER**

**THE INFIRMARY**

Pain. That was all he could feel. 

In the midst of the cold and darkness that currently surrounded him, Sigurd found nothing but its familiar embrace to welcome him as he finally emerged from his slumber, bringing him into an environment he did not expect.

Instead of feeling the warmth of Fólkvangr’s sun-kissed fields, or the bone-biting winds of Helheim’s wintry snows, the only thing Sigurd could detect was the comfort of a soft bed lying beneath his fingertips. 

...He wasn’t dead. Not yet, at least.

The gods had granted him a second chance.

He had been saved by that mysterious man on the shore, and given an opportunity to recover. 

But... what about Eivor? Or Randvi? Or the rest of his clan? Were they still alive, and healing from their wounds just as he was? Or had the Valkyries already escorted them to Odin’s feast, and laid them to rest?

Part of him didn’t even want to think about it, given the circumstances. He had already struggled so much just to survive, that he did not wish to hear if his brother had become a corpse by now. He imagined he was already going to have a difficult enough time trying to regain his strength, but to be entirely alone in this ordeal... the very idea of it made his heart sink.

Forcing his eyes open to a slit, Sigurd squinted as a burst of sunlight flooded his vision, painting everything in the room around him with a disorienting haze.

The only things he could make out were the soft edges of a nearby window from which the light poured through, and the blurry silhouette of what appeared to be a girl accompanying him.

At the moment, she seemed to be unaware of his newly conscious state and simply tended to her own matters, humming quietly under her breath. Her voice sounded fairly younger than Sigurd would’ve expected, and the size of her shadow led him to assume she was no more than a child. Possibly the daughter of whomever rescued him.

Lifting a hand to block the sunlight, Sigurd suddenly felt a sharp sting gripping him in the chest as his wounds strained to keep up with his movement, causing him to let out a faint grunt.

The girl instantly glanced upwards upon hearing the abrupt noise and gasped in surprise, pleased to see that her friend had finally risen from his sleep.

“Oh my goodness...!” She said softly. “You’re actually awake! Can you... can you hear me?”

Sigurd remained silent in response, still trying to get his bearings. 

This girl... she sounded like a Saxon. Though, she clearly wasn’t just _any_ Saxon. Her appearance suggested she may have been some type of noblewoman -- or perhaps, in the service of one -- and the quality of her dress was obviously not something that a commoner would’ve been able to get their hands on.

Her hair was well-groomed and decorated with a few simple braids that stretched down to her back, and a beautiful necklace dangled from around her neck. An heirloom, perhaps?

She spoke with an unusual sense of kindness that Sigurd did not typically receive from her people, and the discretion in her voice only led him to believe that she was in the minority. Was he even welcome in this place?

“C-Can you understand me?” She asked, picking up on Sigurd’s confusion. “I know this must be... strange for you.”

The Norseman blinked a few times, finally able to make some sense of what was going on.

“What...? Where... where am I...? What’s going on?”

The girl’s expression lightened with relief. “So you _do_ speak our tongue. That’s good. You’re in Wedenscire, friend. In the ealdorman’s castle. The infirmary, specifically.”

_That_ took Sigurd by surprise. “...The _ealdorman’s_ castle? Why would an ealdorman save a Norse?”

“Well, _he_ didn’t,” she clarified. “His children did. Me and my brothers brought you back from the nearby town after a fisherman found you washed up on the shore. Normally, we would’ve left you alone, but you would’ve died without a proper healer’s treatment.”

Sigurd took on a more serious demeanor, suddenly growing wary of the girl’s intentions. “So... you are the ealdorman’s daughter, then. And why would you go out of your way to keep me alive? What is it you hope to gain? Information? Secrets?”

The girl shook her head, eager to deny his suspicions. “Oh, no! Nothing like that.”

“Well, you must want _something._ Or did you simply save me out of the kindness of your own heart?”

She glanced downwards, admittedly a tad embarrassed to confess her motivations.

“...Well, y-yes, actually. I know that may sound incredibly naive of me, but you were dying. And I didn’t have the heart to just... leave you behind. The fact that you’re a Dane--” she quickly corrected herself, “--or a Norse, doesn’t change that. The truth is, I don’t want anything from you. I only wish to see you recover.”

The girl sounded like she was being sincere, but even then, Sigurd’s instincts urged him to keep his guard up regardless.

“...If your words hold truth to them,” he said, “then you have my thanks. I do not remember much from that night, but I know for a fact I would not have survived without your people’s help. Or your own. I owe you.”

The girl relaxed a little bit, hoping to maintain the trust between them.

“Might I ask your name? I’m Edlynne.”

He sat up, his body aching with every movement. “Sigurd.”

“Sigurd...” Edlynne repeated with a smile. “Well, Sigurd, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You’ve been unconscious for two days. If I’m being honest, part of me never expected to see you wake up.”

Sigurd paused at that. “...I’ve been here for two _days?”_

“Indeed. You were on the brink of death when we found you. It’s a miracle you survived. How do you feel?”

The viking glanced down at his bloodstained bandages. “Better, considering how I was before.”

“That’s good. Do you think you can walk? You sustained quite a few injuries from that night.”

Sigurd shifted his body a bit, testing its limits. “I... believe so. Just give me a moment--”

Interrupting their conversation, a boy suddenly came barging into the infirmary with a panicked expression on his face as he brought his gaze to Edlynne, quickly shutting the door behind him.

He also carried the look of a nobleman and wore a simple yet sophisticated tunic, paired with a short cape wrapped around his shoulders. As for the boy himself, he appeared to be around Edlynne’s age and had hair of the same color -- only _his_ was cut so short that the bottom of his head was nearly bare. A relative of hers, perhaps?

“Sister...!” He said urgently, keeping his voice down. “We--”

His eyes landed on Sigurd, causing him to fade into silence.

Edlynne glanced back and forth between the two of them, unsure of what was going on.

“...Joseph?” She asked, her tone quiet with anxiety. “Are you alright? You seem perturbed.”

Joseph gestured to the viking, his eyes wide with surprise. “He’s awake?”

“Yes. He woke up not too long ago, in fact. We’ve only been speaking for a few moments.” She held an introductory hand up to him. “This is Sigurd. Sigurd, this is my twin brother, Joseph.”

The boy strode further into the room, his actions swift with haste.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not in the mood for pleasantries, but I’m afraid we have a much bigger issue to address at the moment.”

“What is it?”

“It’s father. I don’t know how, but he’s discovered that we have a Dane in the infirmary, and he is _not_ happy.”

The girl quirked a brow. “What? How could he possibly know that? Did someone tell him?”

“I-I don’t know...! It wasn’t me or Edric, that I can assure you.” He froze. “...You don’t think it could’ve been Linette, do you?”

Edlynne rejected the idea. “What...? N-No, of course not! I know she was apprehensive about all this in the beginning, but she wouldn’t endanger the life of one of her patients, Dane or not.”

Joseph sighed in discontent. “I suppose it no longer matters. The main problem right now is that Algar has returned from his travels, and is on his way up here as we speak...!”

Sigurd joined in. “I assume this is bad news for me?”

The boy turned to him. “Considering our father hates your people and would see you all dead, yes, I would say so. There’s also the fact that Algar himself isn’t fond of vikings either.”

A thought crossed Edlynne’s mind. “Well, what about Edric? Do you think _he_ could sway father’s mind?”

Joseph didn’t seem too confident. “Possibly. He’s speaking to father in the throne room at the moment, but you know how much he distrusts Danes. Even if he convinces father not to kill our new friend here, I doubt the outcome will be favorable anyway. If you _truly_ want to help Sigurd, we’ll have to do something ourselves.”

The girl was at a loss. “Like what?”

“...We’ll have to get him out of Forangal.”

Edlynne gestured at the stone walls around them. “And how are we supposed to do that? We’re locked in a castle surrounded by guards. Not to mention that all the gates are shut. How do you expect us to leave with a viking in tow?”

Joseph paused for a moment, trying to devise a plan. There weren’t many escape routes they could access from the infirmary -- especially in broad daylight -- but every castle had its blind spots. There _had_ to be something.

He perked his head up in realization, his expression lighting up with an idea.

“Wait, I might have a way out.”

“Well? What is it?”

The boy gave Sigurd an apologetic look, uncertain of how the man would react to his suggestion.

“The corpse carts.”

Edlynne blinked in confusion. “...You want to use the corpse carts?”

“Why not? They’re filled to the brim nowadays because of the war. I doubt anyone would notice if we snuck another body into the pile--”

“--Oh, for God’s sake, Joseph!” The girl exclaimed in disgust.

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

Edlynne paced around the room, crossing her arms in thought. “I don’t know, but there _must_ be a better way. One that isn’t so... morbid. Perhaps we could disguise Sigurd? Clothe him in Saxon attire?”

_“Disguise_ him?” Joseph repeated, clearly not on board. “Look at him, Edlynne! Unless you can get him a full suit of armor with a helm and cloak, he’s not getting past anybody.”

The girl grew frustrated. “The same could be said about the corpse carts. Our guards might be lazy sometimes, but they’re not stupid. Those bodies have been in there for days now. Surely, they’ve already rotted and turned grey. You really think they wouldn’t notice a living person hiding amongst them?”

Joseph shrugged in defeat. “Well, Sigurd looked pretty dead when you first brought him here.”

“That isn’t--”

“--My, my.” A fourth voice said, causing the twins to fall completely silent. “Bickering already?”

They both turned towards the door, only to see Algar himself standing in the entryway. 

“...Shit.” Joseph muttered, sticking close to his sister. “Hello, Algar.”

The housecarl leaned against the frame, greeting the siblings. “Lord Joseph. Lady Edlynne.”

Algar was a mountain of a man. Even without the thick layers of plated armor to bolden his towering physique, the man himself was intimidating enough.

His face was lined with deep creases around the eyes and nose, and the shape of his brow always seemed to be stuck in a permanent scowl. There were multiple scars littered across his skin -- the most prominent one being a gash that traveled from the top of his head all the way down to his cheekbone -- and one of his ears had been sliced clean off.

Despite his damaged exterior though, Algar still seemed to look after his appearance somewhat. His dark hair was short and parted -- save for the baldness that had been rendered by his scar -- and his beard had been neatly trimmed to fit his jaw.

He was certainly unlike any other Saxon Sigurd had ever seen, and the further he stepped into the room, prowling towards the viking like a lion, the more the Norse began to wonder if there was any hope of him surviving this day.

“My God,” Algar said with a chuckle as he gaze landed on Sigurd. “You really _do_ have a Dane in here. I didn’t believe Hundwerth when he first told us about your new friend, but it seems that the bishop _isn’t_ completely full of shit, after all.”

He glanced at the twins. “Where’d you find him?”

Edlynne knotted her hands together out of nervousness. “I-In Agenbury.”

“Agenbury?” He said, his voice quiet like the hiss of a snake. “Odd place for a viking.” He turned to Sigurd. “Care to explain what you were doing there, Dane?”

Sigurd scoffed. “You speak as if I was there voluntarily. The river carried me there when I was unconscious. I had no intentions of delivering myself into the hands of the enemy.”

Algar smirked. “No, but it seems that _God_ did. For He knows of your crimes, and He knows you must face retribution.”

Joseph stepped in, admittedly uncomfortable about letting the housecarl too close to their new friend. “Why are you here, Algar? What does father want with Sigurd?”

“He wishes to meet the man. Face-to-face.”

Edlynne didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. “That’s... it? He just wants to meet him?”

Algar nodded. “Indeed. Unlike some of the other ealdormen in England, Aegenwulf actually looks his enemies in the eye before executing them.”

“No!” Joseph protested. “You can’t kill him! He’s done nothing wrong!”

The housecarl gave him a cautionary glare. “Calm yourself, little lord. Whatever your father commands is what I will carry out. If you have your quarrels with him, I’d suggest taking them to the throne room. He’s rather eager to see this Dane removed from our midst... and so am I.”

Algar placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, urging Sigurd to follow him. “Well, come along then, Dane. Ealdorman Aegenwulf awaits.”

Edlynne timidly approached the man, hoping to dissuade him. 

_“Please,_ Algar. Leave him be. He’s still injured. Can’t you let him rest for a moment? W-We don’t even know if he can walk yet.”

“Then I’ll drag him by his bloody ankles.”

She glowered at him. “You can’t just--!”

“--It’s alright, Edlynne.” Sigurd reassured, holding a hand up. “I’ll follow him.”

“But...”

“It’s alright.” He reiterated. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dealt with an ealdorman.”

Joseph placed a hand on Edlynne’s shoulder, attempting to calm her down. “Let it go, sister. There’s nothing we can do now.”

The girl let out an uneasy breath, but stood down nonetheless.

As for Sigurd, the man slowly threw his legs over the edge of the bed and braced himself for the upcoming trip, uncertain of how his body was going to handle his weight.

It had been days since he last stood on his own, and judging by how severely his wounds reacted to him simply lifting his arm earlier, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to walk without leaning on something -- or _someone._

Pressing his feet against the stone floor, Sigurd grunted in effort as he pushed himself up from the bed, trying to ignore the agony that was now piercing his flesh.

It was clear that he wasn’t quite ready to be roaming around just yet, but based on the urgency of the situation, he assumed he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Well, would you look at that...” Algar taunted with a grin. “The dog’s still got some bark left in him.”

Edlynne stared at Sigurd with a shocked expression, evidently taken aback by his surprising height. The viking wasn’t quite as tall as Algar, but he still towered over the twins like a walking Goliath.

“How do you feel...?” She asked.

Sigurd clutched his arrow wound, attempting to suppress the pain. “Far better than I look, I assure you.”

Algar beckoned the Norse. “Then you’ll be fit enough to see Aegenwulf.” He turned on his heel, taking his leave from the infirmary. “Follow me, Dane, and try not to fall over. We don’t want your blood staining our floors.”

Staying behind for a moment while the housecarl made his way out, Sigurd exchanged looks with the twins and fell into an agitated silence, unable to deny that he shared their fear.

He had no idea if he’d be leaving the throne room alive, or if he’d even get the chance to make it that far, but seeing as how Edlynne and Joseph were fond of him, he hoped they’d be able to convince the others to spare him.

He wasn’t normally in the habit of begging Saxons for his life, but with the state that his body was currently in, Sigurd had no intentions of provoking anyone just yet. He may have been a warrior, but he certainly wasn’t stupid.

“Be careful, Sigurd.” Edlynne warned. “Our father isn’t a bad man, but... he’s controlled by his grief these days.”

That piqued the man’s interest. “Grief? Did something happen?”

Her tone sank with heartache. “...Yes. Our eldest brother, Gareth, was killed about a month ago. By a clan of Danes.”

Joseph added onto her explanation. “The Raven Clan, specifically.”

Sigurd froze upon hearing that, paralyzed on the spot.

_...Did he just say the Raven Clan?_ Surely, that couldn’t have been right. He was well aware that the vikings had a reputation for being cruel to Saxons -- not all of it without reason -- but their clan was different. _Eivor_ was different. He would not have condoned the killing a man who did not deserve it.

Though, of course, that presupposed the notion that Gareth was innocent. If someone in the Raven Clan deemed their brother worthy of a kill, Sigurd was certain that it must have been for a good reason.

There was clearly more to this story, but for the moment, he restrained himself from prying.

“Ah...” Sigurd simply replied, trying to conceal his sudden dread, “I see. You have my condolences.”

Edlynne didn’t seem to notice the shift in his mood. “Thank you. We pray for him everyday, but... there’s no way of knowing if he’s truly at peace. We can only hope.”

Joseph changed the subject, not wishing to dwell in these thoughts. “But enough about that. You have an ealdorman to greet, and we have much to prepare for, in the event that you don’t return.”

Sigurd nodded, following Algar’s tracks into the corridor. “I understand. Thank you both for your help. Even if your efforts end up being in vain, you will still have my appreciation.”

“Good luck, Sigurd.” Edlynne said, bidding him farewell. “May God guide you in the storm ahead. I have a feeling these next few days are going to be difficult for all of us, and I would not wish for more struggles to be thrust upon you.”


	4. At Hel's Gates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer wait for this chapter guys. I hit a bit of a writer’s block >.< Hope you like it though!

**FORANGAL CASTLE**

Trudging along behind Algar’s vast strides, Sigurd dragged himself through the castle as he followed the housecarl to the throne room, admittedly struggling to keep up with his brisk pace.

His body was screaming at him to sit down and have a rest somewhere with all the wounds that still littered his flesh, but considering the amount of eyes that were lingering on him at the moment, Sigurd didn’t dare let himself collapse.

All around him, Saxons of every kind stopped dead in their tracks to stare at their peculiar guest as they murmured to each other in nervousness, speculating about what the purpose of his visit could’ve been. Guards and civilians alike followed his every move with a sense of fear sharpening their eyes, and if Sigurd didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Algar led him down this path on purpose.

There were a dozen different ways to reach the throne room -- many of which were far more discreet -- but given how Sigurd was one breath away from being a walking corpse, it was hardly any surprise that Algar decided to go with the most blatant.

After all, what better chance would he have to humiliate his prisoner? It was a well-known fact that the housecarl shared his ealdorman’s hatred for Danes, and seeing as how Sigurd was practically clothed in nothing except for bandages at the moment, it was the perfect opportunity for Algar to parade him around like a dog on a leash.

Sigurd just hoped he wasn’t being led into a death trap. He could see that this whole ordeal gave the housecarl a malevolent sense of joy, and considering the fact that nearly everyone in the castle hated his kind, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out to be his demise.

“...How does it feel, Norse?” Algar taunted, not even bothering to slow down.

Sigurd gripped his waist, refusing to let the pain hinder him. “Two arrows were fired into my chest and I was thrown into the river -- all after being battered by soldiers. You tell me.”

The housecarl chuckled. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about that.”

Algar gestured at the spectating crowds around them, keeping his voice low so that only Sigurd could hear him.

“I meant, how does it feel, now that all these people have seen you for what you are? A sick, hobbling wretch of a man presented to the world in his God-given form? They’ve heard stories about the Danes, you see. Horrifying tales that speak of the barbaric deeds your people have committed. They fear you. And that fear gives you strength.”

Sigurd pressed a hand against the wall, doing his best to stay upright as the housecarl continued to speak.

“But now... you’re alone. You’ve no clan to protect you, and no shield to hide behind. Your longships lay abandoned on the shores of foreign lands, and these poor souls can finally see you for your true self. A coward.”

The viking ignored Algar’s taunts, not wishing to indulge the man.

“Is that so? And tell me, Saxon, do you goad all your prisoners like this? Or is it just me?”

Algar threw him a glare. “No. When it comes to most Danes in your position, I normally just put a sword through their skull. But for whatever reason, Lord Aegenwulf has taken an interest in you, and so, I shall stay my blade for the moment. But know this -- should you try _anything_ that might endanger the safety of our ealdorman, or the safety of his children, you will _wish_ that we left you in that river to drown.”

Sigurd sped up slightly, walking side-by-side with Algar. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Good. Then follow me, and stay in your place.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A FEW MINUTES LATER**

**THE THRONE ROOM**

Limping towards the doors of the throne room, Sigurd silently trailed behind Algar whilst the gargantuan man headed into the great hall ahead of him, announcing their arrival to the ealdorman.

The viking could feel a tight grip of anxiety growing in his chest as he approached the entrance, and upon stepping into the ominous atmosphere of the main hall, he suddenly felt as if the stone walls were closing in on him like a cage.

It felt more akin to a dungeon than a place of nobility in here. The very foundation of the castle seemed to hold onto its occupants with a suffocating clutch, and as Algar delved further into the lion’s den, Sigurd spotted the ealdorman himself sitting at the end of the hall.

At the moment, Lord Aegenwulf was currently slouching in his throne as if the burdens of his position physically weighed him down, and the grim expression on his face did little to help.

His eyes reflected the sullen climate of the throne room like a shattered mirror, and just based on the manner in which his gaze snapped onto Algar, the viking assumed that the man was not pleased about this unexpected turn of events.

“Lord Aegenwulf,” Algar called, kneeling respectfully before him. “I bring the Norse you wished to see.”

The ealdorman exchanged a quick glance with one of the men standing at his side -- most-likely another lord, based on his attire -- and beckoned the housecarl with a simple flick of the hand.

“Show him to me.” He commanded.

Algar instantly rose to his feet and stormed over to Sigurd, grabbing the Norse by the back of the neck before hurling him to the floor.

A pained hiss escaped Sigurd’s lips upon hitting the ground, and without even looking down at his body, the man already knew he had reopened one of his wounds.

“Here he is, my lord.” Algar presented.

Glancing upwards from his position, Sigurd observed Aegenwulf with a newfound interest as the ealdorman did the same, both of them silently examining the other.

Aegenwulf was a lean, middle-aged man with a head of grey hair that sat just above his shoulders, and had a long goatee adorning his chin. His expression was crippled with a prominent touch of remorse, and in the darkness that clung onto his piercing glare, Sigurd could detect an intense hatred burning within him like a fire that was just beginning to ignite.

As for the subjects surrounding him, Sigurd also spotted a younger-looking man standing beside Aegenwulf’s throne, quietly watching the scene unfold. The young man had a head of brown hair that was shaved in a way similar to that of Joseph’s, and judging by the striking resemblance between him and the ealdorman, Sigurd assumed he must’ve been his son.

“So...” Aegenwulf began, watching the viking with the eyes of a hawk, _“you_ are the man whom my children rescued. I’ve heard much about you since your... _fortuitous_ arrival. You’ve caused quite a stir in Forangal with your presence.” He paused for a moment. “...What is your name, Norse?”

Sigurd mindlessly kept his gaze on the ealdorman’s son, unable to deny that he was somewhat captivated by the man.

“...Sigurd.”

Aegenwulf fidgeted with the ornament on the throne’s armrest, furrowing his brow in thought.

“Sigurd...” he repeated. “And tell me, Sigurd, of which clan do you hail?”

The Norse fell silent, hesitant to answer the question. He did not know whether or not the ealdorman was aware of his true identity, but considering what Edlynne told him earlier about the death of her brother, he decided it would be best to keep his clan a secret for the time being.

“I... don’t have a clan.” He settled with. Aegenwulf eyed him skeptically.

“A lone Norse wandering a hostile kingdom without a clan? Odd. How long have you been alone?”

“For many years now, my lord. It’s what I’ve always done.”

Aegenwulf traced the side of his temple with a finger, barely shifting his expression. “...I see. And what brought you to Wedenscire? What business have you in these lands?”

“I did not come here by choice. I was ambushed by soldiers and thrown into the river. The water’s current carried me to Agenbury. There, a man found me washed up on the shore, and then your children brought me to this castle.”

The ealdorman processed the viking’s claims and leaned forward in his seat, holding Sigurd in suspense as he pondered his next words.

“Well, Sigurd... regardless of who you are, or whatever your intentions may be, I must admit that I am intrigued by you. You appear to be no different from your pagan brethren, and yet... it is clear to me that there is something unique about you. After all, it is rare for a Norse to offer candor to a Saxon.”

Sigurd perked his head up in curiosity. “Candor? How could you know--”

“--Your story matches the one my son told me.” Aegenwulf explained, gesturing to the young man. “We spoke long before you arrived. Edric was the one who brought you to our healer.”

Sigurd glanced at the young man, wary about where this was going.

“You saved me?”

Edric’s tone remained firm. “At my siblings’ request, yes. But do not mistake my mercy for friendship. I’m not in the habit of saving stray Danes.”

“I see.”

The viking turned back to Aegenwulf, eager to get this over with.

“And you, my lord? Do you share his views? Have you summoned me here for a simple conversation, or do you intend to execute me?”

Aegenwulf leaned back in his throne, his demeanor calm as always.

“Neither. I _was_ going to send you to the headsman’s axe initially, but after much thought and consideration... my son has persuaded me that, perhaps, you would be more useful to me alive than dead.”

Algar shifted a brow at that. “Ealdorman?”

“Hush, Algar,” the older man urged, picking up on his housecarl’s disapproval. “This decision was not easily made, but I believe it _is_ the wisest course of action, given the alternative outcomes.”

Aegenwulf brought his attention back to Sigurd, explaining his plan.

“Listen to me carefully, Sigurd the Lone Wolf. I have brought you here for one reason, and one reason alone. From this day forth, you are not to be regarded as an enemy in this hall, but instead, as an asset. You will be indentured to me.” 

The ealdorman pointed a finger at the viking, giving him a single command.

“You will be responsible for protecting my children. You will act as their personal bodyguard, and defend them with your life. Your job will be to eliminate anythreats that should endanger them -- _including_ your own people. No matter the cost.”

Sigurd found himself at a loss for words. Was Aegenwulf being serious? Or was this simply a test of some sort? Surely, he would not place this much faith in a stranger, let alone a _Norse._ After all, he had just lost one of his own children to their people.

“...Me?” He questioned, baffled by the situation. “Why me? Why not choose somebody else?”

“Because _you_ are the one my son saved,” Aegenwulf answered. “A tremendous amount of effort has gone into keeping you afloat these past two days, and there’s also the fact that our healer, Linette, used a decent portion of her resources to nurse you back to health.”

He tilted his head at Sigurd.

“I believe it is only fair that you repay them for their compassion, wouldn’t you agree? You may not be able to pay them back in silver, but I have heard of the tenacity of Norse warriors. It would be a waste to throw your battle prowess away.”

Algar stepped forward, incredulous about the decision. “My lord, I _must_ protest! This man is a Norse; a viking! He is a man of the enemy, and cannot be trusted. It would be foolish to place your children’s lives in the hands of this pagan!”

Aegenwulf gave him a cautionary glare. “Are you implying that I am foolish, housecarl?”

“N-No, of course not, ealdorman. But I do not think it would be wise to entrust this man with the safety of our people! He is--”

“--Well, fortunately, it’s not your decision to make.” Aegenwulf interrupted. “My children claim that this man can be trusted, so let him prove it. He knows the consequences that will arise should he fail, and I am confident that he will do everything he can to ensure that that doesn’t happen...” He glanced at Sigurd. “...Right?”

Sigurd nodded hesitantly, still taken aback by this path he had suddenly been thrown on. “O-Of course, my lord.”

“Good. Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

Aegenwulf looked at his son, instructing the young man to come forth.

“Edric, take Sigurd to the armory. It will be a while before he’s able to recover, but I want his equipment to be prepared in the meantime.”

“...Yes, father.” Edric replied in a cross tone. “As you wish.”

The young man stepped away from his position at the throne and descended the small stairs that led up to it, beckoning Sigurd to follow him with a simple jerk of the head.

“Come along then, Norse. And don’t fall behind.”

Watching Edric storm off, Sigurd slowly stood up from the floor and rose back to his feet, careful not to reopen any other wounds. Meanwhile, Aegenwulf remained seated in his throne, uttering one last phrase before dismissing the viking.

“Remember, Sigurd, we are all watching you. I may have spared your life for today, but if I so much as _suspect_ that you have betrayed my trust, I will bring unto you a retribution so fierce that it will shake you even in death.”

Sigurd nodded assuredly at Aegenwulf. “...I understand, my lord.”

“Very well. Then be off with you. My son awaits you in the armory, and I expect you to take up your duties as soon as you are able. Until then, may you walk with God.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A WHILE LATER**

**THE ARMORY**

Following Edric down the lengthy corridor, Sigurd found himself feeling much more relieved now that he was out of Algar’s reach and away from the throne room’s premises, leaving him with a brief sense of peace.

The ealdorman’s son didn’t appear to be any more thrilled than the housecarl to have a new Norse roaming around their halls, but at the very least, he didn’t show any intentions of driving a blade through his heart either.

Though, Sigurd had to admit, he _was_ curious about the young man’s true motivations. It was quite obvious that he held no love for the Danes or their people, and even though he claimed to have saved Sigurd at the behest of his siblings, the viking still had to wonder if that was truly the case.

After all, was it really enough to convince someone to risk their safety purely based on their family’s wishes alone? Regardless of how much Edric may have loved Joseph and Edlynne, the truth of the matter was -- they were at war.

There was no love to be found between Saxons and Danes -- especially in _this_ shire -- and despite the honorable demeanor Sigurd may have carried, the young man really had no reason to trust him. He was still a complete stranger in the man’s eyes, and so the fact that Edric went out of his way to convince his father to spare Sigurd only made the viking more confused.

“So...” Edric suddenly said, pulling the other man from his thoughts, “ _you’re_ Sigurd. You were in _quite_ a state the last time I saw you. Part of me was convinced you wouldn’t wake up.”

Sigurd caught onto his tone. “Disappointed that I did?”

“Let’s just say that Danes aren’t exactly reputable around here. They’ve brought much pain to our lands, and so far, I have no reason to believe you won’t do the same.”

The viking couldn’t help but throw back a humorous retort. “Well, good thing I’m a Norse, then.”

Edric sighed in annoyance. “Norse, Dane -- it makes no difference. You’re all pagans in my eyes. My father may have entrusted you with my life, but that does not mean I’m willing to hand it over.”

“You know, for someone who went through the trouble of rescuing me, you don’t seem too enthusiastic to have me around.”

“And why should I be? My siblings may pray for your recovery, but that is only because they are naive to the horrors of this war. They have not seen the cruelty of your people, nor what they did to our brother.”

Sigurd switched to a more serious tone. “...Yes, Edlynne told me about Gareth.”

Edric glanced at him. “Did she? I suppose I’m not surprised. She seems to be drawn to you. But what she says is true. Gareth was killed about a month ago. Near Grantebridge. It happened during an assault. The Danes just... cut him down like some sort of animal. We received word about it a week later.”

The viking’s expression sank with empathy. “Do you know who’s responsible for his death?”

The man glowered in anger. “We do, actually. According to Algar’s scouts, it was the Raven Clan who brought his life to an end.”

Sigurd shook his head in disbelief. “...Are you _certain?_ I have crossed paths with the Raven Clan before, and I can assure you, they are not the type to display such unnecessary cruelty. They have always been men and women of honor.”

Edric scoffed. “Your people and mine have very different definitions of honor, Sigurd. We consider mercy and justice to be honorable traits. _Your_ people would sacrifice a defenseless man to one of their gods all in the name of war.”

The ealdorman’s son decided to drop the subject and ended the conversation with a huff, making haste to their destination.

“But enough of that. We’ve reached the armory. You can find gear for yourself in here.”

Swinging open the iron-braced door, Edric stepped aside and allowed Sigurd to go in first, revealing a room full of valuable equipment.

All around him, there were racks decorated with a wide variety of swords, shields, axes, flails -- and in the center of the room, there stood an impressive array of armored models, glimmering in the light like a shining mirror.

“Have a look around,” Edric said, leaning against a wall. “I doubt any of this armor will actually fit a man of your stature, but when you find something you like, we’ll take it to our blacksmith and have him adjust it for you. Be mindful, though. Some of it is heavier than it looks.”

Walking up to one of the armor displays, Sigurd took a moment to examine its durability and leaned closer to the outfit, meticulously observing its components.

The first layer was made up of a suit of chainmail that draped over the entire body and had a light gambeson to pad it underneath, similar to the one Edric wore. It was protected by a sturdy shell of plate armor that covered all the limbs, and had a full helm sitting atop its shoulders.

A fashionable cape bearing the sigil of Aegenwulf’s house hung from the pauldrons, and upon further inspection, Sigurd noticed that extra care had been put into making sure there were very few weak points for a blade to sneak in.

It was very impressive in its design, but despite its resistant nature and ability to block out any attacks, Sigurd couldn’t help but note how unbearably dense it was.

The multiple layers of armor made it almost impossible for its wearer to move around freely, and just based on how much it seemed to strain the model that it currently rested on, Sigurd assumed it would’ve been more of a burden than a benefit.

“Do you have anything lighter than this?” He asked Edric, gesturing to the suit.

The young man shook his head. “That _is_ the light armor. You want something heavy, you should take a look at what Algar is wearing.”

Sigurd tapped his knuckles against the armor’s chest, emitting a metallic _clang._ “ _This_ is the light armor? How can anyone fight while wearing this? It’s far too restrictive.”

Edric walked next to Sigurd, observing the display with him.

“Well, it’s made out of metal. Of course it’s going to be heavy. I’m not sure what your warriors wear, but this is what our soldiers have always used.”

The viking crossed his arms, throwing yet another humorous reply at him. “Hmm. Well, as thick as your armor is, I’m afraid it hinders you. Much like your own skull.”

The Saxon grew irritated. “Look, just pick something, alright? If you are to be my guardian, I’d sleep far better at night knowing you were properly equipped for the job. You can’t bloody well fight in your loins.”

Sigurd grinned. “...Is that a challenge?”

Edric sighed deeply. “Lord grant me patience. I’m going to regret this.”

The Norse let out a soft chuckle, amused at the nobleman’s vexed mood. Before he could carry on with his search though, a sudden thought appeared in his mind, providing him with a possible compromise.

“What about my old armor? Do you still have it?”

“You mean the one you were wearing when we fetched you out the river? I believe so, but most of it has been ruined. The only parts of it you could salvage would probably be the tunic and the cloak.”

Sigurd was satisfied with that. “Then it will be enough. I can use the the tunic instead of the gambeson. It will be less protection, but I’ll be able to move faster.”

Edric shrugged in defeat. “Very well. Whatever works for you. Just make sure you’re able to fight at your best. I can defend myself well enough, but it’s my siblings that I fear for.”

The viking began removing the armor from the display. “Have no fear, my lord. Joseph and Edlynne went to great lengths to save me. I won’t allow any harm to come to them.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Edric strode over to the armory’s entrance, saying one last thing before taking his leave.

“I’ll find Linette and ask her where she’s keeping your old gear. In the meantime, you focus on bringing that armor to our blacksmith. He’ll make sure it fits you to the bone, and can possibly even find you a new weapon to wield. Just be quick about it.”

Sigurd nodded. “Understood. Oh, and one more thing, my lord?”

The young man glanced at him. “Yes? What is it?”

He softened his voice. “...Thank you. For convincing your father to spare me.”

Edric turned away from Sigurd, reluctant to open up to the man. “I did not save you out of kindness, Norse. Do not forget that. You are simply an asset to my father. No more, no less.”

The viking smiled in return. “Still, I owe you my life. Even if your motivations were not the most... noble, you have done more than most Saxons would. And I thank you for that.”

Edric pretended to brush off Sigurd’s remarks, but the Norse could tell he was appreciative.

“Well, just make sure you do your part. My father is taking a great risk trusting you like this, and I would not see it be in vain.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**THAT NIGHT**

**SIGURD’S QUARTERS**

Standing in the midst of his new quarters, Sigurd rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck as he adjusted to his suit of armor, trying to get a feel for its limitations.

The armor was far heavier than the one he used to wear during his time with the Raven Clan, but unfortunately for the viking, his Saxon friends seemed to value protection over agility, and thus, he had been forced to settle for this shell of metal.

It would take some time for Sigurd to adapt to its hefty design, what with all the plates of iron that now sat on his limbs, but luckily, not _all_ of it was Saxon craftsmanship.

Beneath the layer of chainmail, Sigurd wore the same tunic that he always adorned back when he still had his Dane armor, and instead of keeping the cape that once hung from the pauldrons, he had substituted the accessory with his signature fur cloak, allowing him to walk freely without fear of tangling a cape between his legs.

It wasn’t exactly the type of protection that Sigurd would’ve normally settled for, but considering the alternative options he saw in the armory, he supposed it was the best he was going to get for now.

Strolling over to his bed, Sigurd took a seat on the edge and let himself rest for a moment, finally giving his wounds the chance they needed to heal. It had been a long day of running around all over the castle and tending to his duties, but even with everything that had happened already, the viking still found himself unable to comprehend his new reality.

Just this morning, he had been a prisoner of Aegenwulf and awaited his possible execution in the throne room, wondering if he’d even live long enough to see the sunset.

Everyone in this castle regarded him as nothing more than a lapdog for the ealdorman, and thanks to all the secrecy that surrounded his presence, a plethora of rumors had sparked amongst the pandemonium, causing people to grow even more fearful of him.

But now... here he was, a personal bodyguard for the ealdorman’s children, and sitting in his own chambers. He had been given a chance to start a new life, and possibly, even find out what happened to the rest of his clan.

It was the stuff of sagas, Sigurd thought, to go through what he had endured. Part of him wondered if this was all some dream and if he was still floating in the river, but if this was the path that the Nornir had lain out before him, Sigurd had no intentions of fighting against it.

He truly believed that everyone was tied into a certain fate, after all, and he could not deny that he was curious to see where _his_ led to.

Breaking him out of his thoughts, an unexpected knock suddenly emitted from the door, leading Sigurd to gaze in its direction. 

“One moment.” He said, pushing himself up from the bed.

Walking over to the entrance, Sigurd pulled the door open and immediately felt his heart tighten with worry as he laid eyes on his guest, finding none other than Algar himself standing on the other side.

“Good evening, my lord.” The housecarl greeted with a malicious grin. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Sigurd’s tone flattened with frustration. “What is it you want, Algar? Is there something you need from me? Or have you come to taunt me more?”

Algar shook his head. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I simply came to make sure that your new quarters are to your liking.”

The viking crossed his arms. “So I see. And what’s the real reason?”

The other man laughed. “Distrustful one, aren’t you? Can a man not take care of his friends without arousing suspicion anymore? I only wish to see how well you fare. After all, I’m certain that these chambers must dim in comparison to the quarters you once had.”

Sigurd furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you were a jarl, were you not? Before you came to Wedenscire?”

The Norse fell silent at that, suddenly feeling a sense of alarm. _What exactly was going on here?_

Algar chuckled at Sigurd’s concerned expression and stepped closer to the man, prowling towards him like a beast.

“...Oh, yes. I know who you are, son of Styrbjorn. I must admit, you took me by surprise when I first saw you in Linette’s infirmary. I was certain my men had finished you off back in Ravensthorpe... but it appears I was not nearly as thorough as I thought.”

Sigurd glared at Algar with the gaze of a lion, clenching his jaw in anger.

“... _You?”_ He whispered vehemently, his eyes widened with shock. _“You_ were the one who destroyed my home...?”

The housecarl nodded casually. “Indeed. Under Aegenwulf’s command. He sought vengeance after the death of his son, you see, and I was more than willing to help. It took me quite a while to track your clan down and devise an assault, but once everything was in place, your village burned like firewood. Even your own brother could not defend his people.”

Sigurd stared at Algar directly in the eye, his gaze practically piercing through the man’s skull.

_“What did you do to Eivor?”_

Algar smiled widely, revealing a row of yellow-tinted teeth. “...Only what he deserved.”

The housecarl reached into his pouch and pulled out a specific item, presenting it to Sigurd in his palm. The item appeared to be a small blade decorated with golden plating and green jewels, and--

_...Wait._

Sigurd froze in horror.

_No. It couldn’t be. Was that...?_

“Your brother’s most prized possession,” Algar explained. “A concealed blade that we tore from his wrist after he died. The weapon was damaged in our little scuffle, but I decided to keep it nonetheless. ‘Tis a thing of beauty, after all.”

Sigurd suddenly felt a newfound rage kindling inside him and lurched at the housecarl, causing the other man to pin him against the wall.

“Now, now...” Algar taunted, restraining the viking’s wrists in his grasp, “let’s not do anything foolish, shall we?”

Sigurd struggled relentlessly in his hold, completely forgetting about his injuries now. “I’ll gut you, you _argr_ dog...!”

The Saxon smirked. “I wouldn’t recommend that, not after Aegenwulf has placed so much trust in you. You’re quite fortunate, you know? I tried to inform him of your true identity back in the throne room, but it seems his halfwitted son got into his ear before I could.”

“Then why not tell him now?” Sigurd growled. “Why waste your time tormenting me?”

“Because regardless of our disagreements, Aegenwulf _is_ right about one thing. You are clearly much stronger than you look. Most Saxons would consider the Wolf-Kissed to be the best warrior in your clan, and yet, you managed to survive where he could not. You evaded death against all odds, and found a place amongst our nobility, despite being a Norse. You are a warrior in a world of weaklings, and it would be foolish to waste your skills.”

Algar leaned forward, twisting Sigurd’s arm in his grip. “But _do_ not mistake my compliance for absolution. If you step even a _toe_ out of line, you can be certain that Aegenwulf will be informed of who you _really_ are.”

He threw Sigurd to the ground, looming over him like a shadow.

“What happens now depends entirely on you, Sigurd. You can either follow Aegenwulf’s orders like a good little boy and live your life as the Lone Wolf, or pursue this pointless quest for revenge and die as the jarl who failed to protect his people. The decision is yours. Choose wisely.”

Leaving the viking alone with his thoughts, Algar stomped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him, causing a loud thud to echo throughout the chamber as the torches flickered in the wind.

Meanwhile, Sigurd remained fallen on the floor like a discarded corpse and clenched his fists in agony, completely devastated by the news he just heard.

There was no way Eivor could be dead. Not like this.

Eivor was strong; stronger than any of them. He always carried the favor of the gods ever since he was a child, and achieved the impossible as if it were nothing.

Sigurd refused to believe that a battered, old hound such as Algar himself could defeat him. He must’ve been mistaken.

Sigurd survived the ambush in Ravensthorpe, so why couldn’t he?

Until he saw Eivor’s corpse with his own two eyes, the viking promised himself that he wouldn’t give up on the man, no matter how daunting the path ahead may have seemed. There was more to this than Algar was letting on, and Sigurd intended to dig up the full truth -- even if it would cost him his life.

He would have to play along with Aegenwulf’s plans for now, for the sake of staying alive. But when the time came, Sigurd would overcome this obstacle that the gods had placed in front of him, and reclaim his honor as a _drengr_ worthy of Valhalla’s halls.

It was what Eivor would’ve wanted for him, Sigurd assumed. The Wolf-Kissed was a warrior of legendary renown, and if what Algar said really was the truth, then Sigurd did not wish for his brother to roam the fields of Fólkvangr alone.

It was the only fate acceptable for a bloodline such as his, and he did not intend to let it slip by.


	5. Heart of Fire

**TWO DAYS LATER**

**ELMENHAM, EAST ANGLIA**

Eivor gripped the weathered bow in his hand and silently gazed towards the bleak horizon, watching as the boat drifted away with the water’s embrace.

She was gone.

She was actually gone.

After what felt like an eternity of suffering, and a heartbeat of saying goodbyes, the gods had finally granted Randvi the peace she deserved, and carried her off into the afterlife.

Apart from Eivor, she had been the only survivor of the attack on Ravensthorpe. Everyone else in the village had either been killed or gone missing, and now, she too joined their brothers and sisters, leaving Eivor all alone in this world.

It felt like a nightmare, he thought, to watch all of this unfold. Within the span of a few short days, his entire life had fallen apart, and everyone he loved had departed from this realm.

Sigurd, Valka, Hytham, Petra, Tarben, Finnr... Randvi. All dead. All ghosts. All nothing more than names that now echoed relentlessly in Eivor’s head, and haunted him in his dreams.

He was the only one left. 

Much like all those winters ago when Kjotve cut his father down in cold blood, he found himself standing among the ashes once again, forsaken by the very same gods who saved his life.

“Randvi...” he whispered, his voice trembling softly, “...forgive me. I thought I could save you. I thought that... perhaps there was still a chance. You were always so strong and vigilant that I just refused to believe you would die. But I was wrong. Just like everyone else in our clan, I’ve failed you. I failed to keep my promises, and I failed to protect you when you needed me most. You may be off to Helheim’s gates for now, but it is me who should be in your stead.”

Eivor slipped an arrow out from his quiver and held it to a nearby torch, setting the tip aflame.

“Goodbye, old friend. May the gods guide you across the Gjallarbrú, and may you find the honor that was robbed of you in death.”

Pulling the arrow away from the torch, Eivor drew it back and steadily took aim, letting it loose as it went soaring through the air.

The arrow pierced the boat with a solid _thud,_ and within the blink of an eye, the entirety of the structure had been set ablaze, embracing Randvi in a bed of fire.

Eivor felt numb at this point, after bidding farewell to so many of his friends. Over the past few days, he had watched pretty much everyone he knew be taken away by the grace of the gods -- and with one more soul going to join their ranks, the lone viking wasn’t sure if he could endure it anymore.

There was just so much pain. So much fear. Even though he was confident that he could find allies who would be willing to lend him aid, he had no idea where he would direct them for now.

After all, Eivor didn’t know who was behind the attack on Ravensthorpe. No one had come forth and taken responsibility for the assault, and considering the fact that he was still recovering from his wounds, he doubted he’d be able to scour the remains of his old village without being killed.

He had been trapped behind a dead end... and there was nothing left for him to turn back to.

“Eivor,” a man suddenly said, breaking the silence. “There you are.”

Eivor turned away from the water, looking to see who had approached him. 

“...Oswald,” he greeted softly. “Forgive me. I did not mean to disappear so abruptly, but... I wished to be alone for this.”

“No need to apologize, my friend,” The Saxon said. “I know things have been immensely difficult for you lately. I only hoped to check up on you.”

Oswald stepped next to Eivor, linking his hands behind his back as he watched Randvi’s boat float away.

“How are your wounds? Are you feeling any better?”

Eivor glanced down at the bandages on his arms. “Physically speaking, yes.”

Oswald raised a brow. “...And otherwise?”

The viking paused, staring blankly into the rippling water. “I... I don’t know, Oswald. I need answers. I need to know who did this. I need to know _why_ they did this. I... I--”

“--You need closure.” The young king replied. 

Eivor nodded slowly, his gaze now lost in the water’s depths. “...Yes. Closure. And justice. For all those who have fallen. The only issue is I’ve no idea where to begin.”

“Well, you can’t go after your enemies without an army. You’ll have to rebuild, regain your strength, prepare yourself to lead. You’ve already forged alliances in Ledecestrescire, Grantebridgescire, Lunden -- and with myself, of course -- but that may not be enough. If you wish to search England for the men who destroyed your clan, you’ll need to pave the way with even more alliances.”

“But how am I supposed to do that when I’m just one man? I no longer have any warriors to fight in my name, nor any resources to spare.”

Oswald remained optimistic. “No... but you _do_ have me.”

Eivor wasn’t so sure about the idea. “But you’re a king now, Oswald. All of England knows your name, and they know of your tolerance for Danes. If you lend your aid to me -- a Norse -- you could risk open war with other kingdoms.”

The young man persisted with his offer. “We’re _already_ at war, Eivor. The moment those people kicked down your door, they became my enemies just as well as they became yours. But... you’re right. I cannot act so blatantly without fear of causing more division. We’ll have to do this discreetly. Away from prying eyes. At least until we know exactly what’s going on.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

Oswald rubbed his chin in thought, quickly putting together a solution.

“...Gjuki.”

Eivor shrugged in confusion. “Gjuki? Who’s that?”

“A friend of Valdis,” he explained. “He used to fight for Rued’s clan, but quickly turned rogue after your assault on Burgh Castle. He’s a skilled warrior, and he knows how to be covert. I could send him to Ravensthorpe if you like. I’m confident he’d be able to find something.”

The other man considered the option. “Tell me about Gjuki, first. Do you trust him? How are you so certain he won’t turn on us like he did Rued?”

“Because he hated Rued. I do not know the reason behind his hatred, but Gjuki was never _truly_ loyal to that man. He only fought alongside him because he had nowhere else to go. But when you launched your assault on the castle, you gave him the chance to break free.”

“And you think he’s the best suited for this task?”

Oswald nodded. “I do. Gjuki’s been in England for quite a few years now. He knows his way around the country, and he knows how to avoid attention. I’m sure he’d be able to find out who attacked your clan -- or at least give us an idea on who to investigate.”

Eivor decided to go along with the plan for now. “...Very well, Oswald. I trust you. But if it’s alright, I’d like to speak with Gjuki myself first. I wish to see him face-to-face.”

“Of course. I understand. You should be able to find him in the longhouse. Just tell him I sent you, and he’ll listen to whatever concerns you may have.”

The viking gave the Saxon and appreciative look. “Thank you, my friend. Truly. Your support means the world to me. Were it not for your help, I would’ve died along with Randvi. I owe you everything.

Oswald frowned sympathetically upon hearing her name. “I’m sorry about Randvi, Eivor. I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to know her that well, but it’s a shame that she had to meet her maker like _this._ If it’s any consolation, I’m certain she was grateful to have you by her side in the end.”

Eivor let out a sigh, walking away from the shoreline. “I hope so. She was the only one I could escort into the afterlife. Everyone else in my clan just... fell out of this world before I had a chance to say goodbye. Even _Sigurd_ died without my company.”

Oswald placed a hand on Eivor’s shoulder, attempting to comfort the man. “Do not torment yourself with these thoughts, Eivor. You will only end up feeding your grief. What happened at Ravensthorpe was beyond your control, and I’m sure Sigurd knew that just as well as you do. The most you can do for your brother now is to bring justice to those responsible. Learn their names, study their motives, and then strike them where it will cripple them most. Your battle is not finished yet, my friend, and neither are you.”

The Norse took the young man’s words to heart, giving him a firm gaze. “I understand. Thank you, Oswald. I will heed your advice and speak with Gjuki. I only hope he is more fortunate than I was.”

Oswald removed his hand from Eivor’s shoulder, allowing the viking to take his leave.

“Go in peace, my friend. And may God watch over you in the battles to come.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**MEANWHILE**

**FORANGAL CASTLE,** **THE CHAPEL**

“As I’ve explained to you already, bishop,” Edric said impatiently, “Father’s decision is final. Sigurd is to be our personal bodyguard from now on, and if you have an issue with that, you can talk with him about it yourself.”

Hundwerth crossed his arms. “I simply fail to see how we could benefit from having a Dane in our midst, my lord. We know next to nothing about Sigurd’s past, nor where he comes from, and yet, your father has seen fit to grant him a position next to his own children! It’s preposterous! You ask me, the only place Sigurd belongs is in the dungeon.”

“Well, it’s a good thing no one asked you, then. Do not forget, Hundwerth. You are here to offer our people religious guidance. Nothing more, nothing less. If my father wishes to hear you political opinions, he will summon you. Until that happens though, I suggest you stick to your holy books and save the bleating for your priests. I’ve enough of a headache as it is.”

The bishop scoffed. “Such disrespect from a so-called lord. Perhaps you would do well to spend more time here, Edric. I could give you some of my ‘religious guidance’ as you put it.”

The young man’s tone remained firm. “I’ll pass. I fear I have far more important matters to attend to, starting with this bloody war. You want to preach to me during a siege, be my guest.”

“Your insolence is--!”

Pausing mid-sentence, Hundwerth cut himself off when he heard the sound of the chapel’s doors being pushed open with a _creak,_ leading both him and Edric to bring their attention to the entrance.

There, in the distance, he saw a tall redheaded man approaching them from the opposite side as the sunlight draped over his figure, turning him into a silhouette.

He was dressed in what appeared to be Saxon-made armor, and yet, the man himself was clearly of Northern origins. His skin was marked with many outlandish tattoos, and if Hundwerth recalled correctly, he believed this was the same man he saw in Linette’s infirmary the other day.

“Sigurd.” Edric greeted with a hint of relief in his voice. “There you are. And with your head still attached to your shoulders, too. I’ll take that as a sign that Hundwerth has yet to harp you.”

The bishop scowled in annoyance, eyeing the viking with distrust. “...Ah. The very subject of our conversation. I see you’ve made a full recovery, Lone Wolf.”

Sigurd threw a glare at Hundwerth. “Is there a problem, Saxon?”

“Well, if you ignore the fact that there’s a pagan standing in this house of God, no. None at all. I hope you’ve come to do penance, Dane.”

The man’s expression was flat. “I’ve come to do no such thing. I am only here to fulfill my duties to Lord Edric. Besides, listening to you speak is penance enough.”

Edric chuckled at that. “That’s one thing we can agree on.”

Hundwerth let out a huff. “As I was saying before, Edric, your insolence will be the end of you. You may laugh all you want now, but bear in mind, the Lord _is_ watching. And he is _not_ pleased.”

“I don’t blame him, considering who he’s using as his mouthpiece.”

The bishop shook his head in defeat and decided to drop the conversation for now, storming out of the chapel whilst the other two stayed behind. He was already thin on patience due to the recent events that had transpired in Forangal over the past two days, but to face such defiance from one of the lords themselves brought him to a level of irritation he didn’t even know existed.

“Well...” Edric said as he watched Hundwerth take his leave, “that’s one way to end an argument.”

Sigurd took note of the young man’s tone. “You don’t seem to be fond of the bishop.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ is. He _is_ a man of God, mind you, but I fear he can be... forceful in how he spreads his faith sometimes. There’s also the fact that he’s been furious ever since my father decided to spare you. Let’s just say that I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

Sigurd leaned against one of the pillars. “It’s my job, isn’t it? To protect you from troublesome situations?”

Edric grinned. “I suppose it is.”

Falling into a brief silence, the two of them took a moment to enjoy some peace and quiet as life carried on outside the chapel, causing the muffled sounds of distant conversation to seep in through the doors.

It was a calm day, Edric thought, considering all the conflicts that had risen due to Sigurd’s presence. Even though many of the people in Forangal were in disagreement with Aegenwulf’s decision to keep the Norse around, few of them had yet to actually protest against it. Unlike Bishop Hundwerth.

Edric supposed they simply didn’t want to cause more tension. There were enough fires being sparked in Wedenscire with all the hostile clans threatening their walls, and considering how Gareth’s death had affected the ealdorman as of late, it was probably best if no one pushed him over the edge.

Still, Edric understood the concerns that some people had. Sigurd _was_ a stranger to their lands, after all, and he did not think it entirely unreasonable for them to be wary.

Though, he couldn’t help but wonder how the viking himself felt about all this. Despite his compliance, Edric could tell that Sigurd wasn’t happy. He often carried a sense of despondency to his broody temperament, and even now, the man’s gaze seemed to sag with fatigue.

He was probably still trying to process whatever happened to him before he arrived in Wedenscire. Edric had yet to learn the details of how Sigurd ended up in such an injured state, but seeing as how bad his wounds were when they first found him, he assumed it had been a terrible ordeal.

Who knew how much trauma the man was dealing with right now? Within the span of a few days, he had been torn away from his home and thrown into the middle of a Saxon fortress, surrounded by hostile guards. He had next to no friends in a shire such as this, and with all the people calling for his head, it was no wonder that Sigurd seemed to be exhausted.

Perhaps... it was time for Edric to ease up on the man. Sigurd was to be his protector from now on, and he did not wish to be enemies with him.

“Hey, Sigurd,” he said gently. “Are you well? You seem... preoccupied.”

The viking was clearly surprised by Edric’s concern, but kept to himself regardless. “It is nothing to concern yourself with, my lord.”

“I know you’re technically our servant now, but that doesn’t mean you’re not important. Your well-being is just as crucial as ours.”

“Is it? And what brought about this sudden change of heart, may I ask?”

Edric bowed his head in shame, letting out a deep sigh. “...If you _must_ know, our healer Linette had a hand in it. She gave me _quite_ a talking-to when she heard that I dragged you all the way to the armory without giving you a chance to rest. Also when I made you carry your armor to the smithy. Edlynne and Joseph weren’t too happy about it either.”

Sigurd gave the young man a humorous glance. “Careful, my lord. Keep on like this, and you might actually apologize.”

Edric laughed. “Ha! Well, in this case, it would be deserved. You’ve been to Hell and back these past few days, and I... I have not welcomed you as a true Christian should. You were in a time of need, and I was willing to push you away. I’m sorry.”

The viking didn’t seem too bothered. “You were only trying to protect your people. I understand. If I’m being honest, I can’t say I would’ve been entirely different if it was _you_ who washed up on _my_ shore. But regardless, I accept your apology.”

The young lord beamed at him. “It gladdens my heart to hear it.”

An idea popped up in Edric’s head, causing him to give Sigurd a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, what say you to a quick hunt?”

Sigurd tilted his head at him. “You want to go hunting? Now?”

“Why not? The skies are clear, and the day is still young. I’ve some time to spare before returning to my duties. Besides, I must admit, I _am_ curious to see how a Norseman hunts his prey.”

Sigurd pushed himself off the pillar, eager to take on the challenge. “Very well, my lord. Just don’t cry when I steal your glory.”

Edric smiled in amusement. “Confident, are we? Good. Do not be fooled though, Sigurd, I’ve a few tricks of my own.”

The young man began making his way out of the chapel, beckoning Sigurd to follow.

“Come. We’ll stop by my chambers and collect some gear there. I have a spare bow that you can use, and I imagine a dog or two would be useful on the hunt as well. Have you ever hunted boar before?”

Sigurd nodded, recalling all the times he spent hunting with Eivor.

“Yes, actually. My brother and I often went hunting as a way to pass the time when we were children.”

Edric raised a brow. “You have a brother?”

The viking’s heart sank with grief, and his light-hearted mood vanished immediately. “Had. He’s dead now.”

The Saxon’s expression dimmed with empathy. “Ah. I’m sorry to hear that. It is a pain I know all too well myself.”

Sigurd held his head high. “Indeed. I miss my brother every day, but I find solace in knowing that he is now in Valhalla. He died fighting as a warrior, and I have no doubt that the Valkyries have escorted him to the corpse hall.”

Edric placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Then may he find peace there.”

He stepped back from Sigurd and turned on his heel, leading him away from the altar. “Come on. This way. Let us put our troubles aside for the moment, and take the day to enjoy some fresh air. This war isn’t going away anytime soon, and neither are we.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A FEW MINUTES LATER**

**ELMENHAM, THE LONGHOUSE**

Strolling past the guards that stood beside the archway, Eivor invited himself into the cozy atmosphere of the longhouse as he scanned the area for Oswald’s friend, eager to speak with him.

At the moment, there were only a few groups of Saxons occupying the space inside and chatting happily amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to the troubles of the war. They smiled, they drank, they laughed, they flyted -- all of them appeared to be trapped in their own little utopia. 

It was like the world around them didn’t even exist. As far as they were concerned, now was a time for celebration. Their king had just gotten married to a Dane after a long struggle of fighting for power, and now, East Anglia was allied with some of the strongest warriors in the country thanks to the efforts of Oswald himself.

Everything was going well for the kingdom. Their troubles had been lifted for just a moment in this relentless storm, and with a newfound sense of unity settling into the land, it felt like they could finally breathe. Eivor, on the other hand, felt as though the world had stopped turning.

Walking up to the empty throne, the lone viking spotted Valdis leaning against a nearby wall as she casually observed the people in the longhouse, quietly keeping to herself.

She seemed to be doing well, all things considered. Despite the issues they had with Rued’s attacks and Oswald’s supposed “death,” the woman appeared to be happy in her marriage, and carried a certain sense of contentment that certainly wasn’t there before. 

However, in spite of the joy he felt from seeing her again, Eivor couldn’t help but notice that she was alone. This “Gjuki” figure was nowhere to be found, and judging by the absence of any other Danes in the longhouse, the man assumed he probably missed him.

_Damn it. He’d have to search elsewhere._

“Eivor!” Valdis greeted happily, smiling at him. “It brings me great relief to see you again. I was worried sick when Randvi first brought you to us. I feared the Valkyries might have taken you already. How do you feel?”

Eivor didn’t share the woman’s enthusiasm. “Well, I’m alive, so I can hardly complain. But I fear Randvi wasn’t quite as fortunate.”

Valdis’ expression instantly sunk. “What do you mean?”

“...She’s dead.” He said plainly. “Randvi succumbed to her wounds yestereve, just as the sun began to fell. I only sent her off to Helheim this morning. Oswald was there too.”

The woman shut her eyes in sorrow, letting out a deep sigh. “...Oh, Eivor. I’m so sorry. The amount of lives that have been lost ever since Ravensthorpe... it’s a tragedy.”

“Indeed. Our völva, Valka, always said that the Nornir weave our lives with a certain plan in mind, but I struggle to understand why they would curse us with such an unforgiving fate. All this death, all this chaos... surely, there must be a reason behind it. It cannot all be in vain.”

“I wish I could say.” Valdis replied. “Unfortunately, the sad truth is that war can be as cruel as it is unnecessary. There will be times when tragedy strikes without reason, and there will be questions that have no answers. However, I do not believe this is the case with _your_ situation.”

Eivor quirked a brow. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Well, look at this way. When everyone else in your clan was killed, _you_ managed to survive. In spite of everything this war has thrown at you, you remain the only man left standing. Surely, the gods must have granted you a second chance for a reason. They see a purpose within you, and perhaps that is why you are here now.”

“...Perhaps. It is all still so confusing, but... your words bring me comfort.”

Eivor decided to change the subject, pushing away his dark thoughts for the moment.

“Anyway, enough about me. I’m looking for somebody. A man named Gjuki. Do you know where I could find him?”

“Gjuki Haldorsson? Yes, he is just outside the longhouse. He shouldn’t be that far away from here, but if you can’t see him, just follow the sound of his lute.”

That caught Eivor’s interest. “Lute? Is he a bard? I was under the impression that he was a warrior.”

Valdis chuckled. “He is, but he is also many other things. You’ll see for yourself once you find him.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, Valdis. I’ll go look for him now.”

“Stay safe, Eivor. And may the gods favor you.”

Taking his leave from the longhouse, Eivor left Valdis to her own devices and stepped back out into the crisp morning breeze, keeping his ears sharp for any music that might’ve been playing.

At first, he didn’t spot anyone of interest -- most of the people outside were Saxons civilians and ordinary guards -- but upon taking a closer look, he suddenly noticed a peculiar man sitting underneath a tree, lute in hand.

He was definitely not what Eivor expected, to put it simply. When Oswald first told him of Gjuki, he had envisioned a large, burly warrior similar to the ones he often saw in Fornburg or other Dane settlements, but _this_ man... was clearly something else.

Gjuki had a rather lean figure that was broadened at the shoulders thanks to the fur cape he adorned, and instead of having a full beard hanging from his chin, he only had a light layer of stubble.

His hair was long, straight, and as black as the void. A multitude of braids had been woven into the thick strands surrounding his face, and poking out from underneath his sleeves, Eivor could see a number of tattoos decorating his arms.

As for the man’s face, he didn’t appear to be that old. He looked to be roughly around the same age as Eivor himself, and had a pair of icy-blue eyes that sat in his skull like two glass orbs. 

Both of his sockets had been smeared with some traditional war paint, and due to the dark color of its pigment, his gaze only seemed to stand out more, creating a stark contrast between his eyes and his skin.

He was a distinct looking man, to say the least. And terrifying, to say the most.

“Gjuki Haldorsson?” Eivor called out.

The man came to a halt upon hearing his name and held his fingers between the lute’s strings, glancing up from the instrument to see who had come to visit him.

“Well, well,” he said in surprise, “look who it is. The Wolf-Kissed. I see you’ve finally returned from your grave. What brings you to me?”

Eivor took a seat across from the other man, studying his mannerisms.

“I come on behalf of our king. He says that you might be able to help me with a problem I have.”

Gjuki rested the lute on one of his knees, casually crossing his legs. “Well, that depends. What sort of problem are you dealing with?”

“Before I get into that,” Eivor paused, “there are some things I’d like to ask you first.”

The other man quickly caught onto his tone. “Ah, a man of caution. I suppose there’s a reason you’ve survived for so long. Very well, if that’s what it takes to earn your trust. Ask away.”

Eivor started with the most obvious question. “Oswalds tells me you once fought for Rued’s clan. Is that true?”

Gjuki scoffed in amusement. “ _Fought for’_ isn’t exactly how I would put it. I was sold to Rued many years ago as a slave after being captured by a Norse known as Kjotve.”

The viking glowered at the name. “Kjotve the Cruel? I’m familiar with him. He caused many issues for me in the past as well -- not excluding trying to sell me into slavery -- but have no fear. He’s nothing more than food for the ravens now. I saw to it myself.”

“He’s dead?” Gjuki asked, unable to hide the smirk that spread across his face. “Oh, how gratifying that must’ve been, to bury your axe in his chest. I would’ve loved to hear the scream that broke free from his lips when the gods swept him away from Midgard. You killed a snake, Eivor, and the world will forever benefit from it.”

“Well, as relieved as I am to have Kjotve out of this world, I fear there are many other snakes I must purge before I can find peace.”

The bard set the lute down by his feet. “And who would they be?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. I’m looking for the men who attacked my village, but I am at a loss on where to start.”

Gjuki nodded in understanding. “And you need my help to find them. I see.”

“Do you think you can do it?”

The man thought for a moment. “Perhaps, but I’m going to need a lead. Do you have any idea where I should begin looking? Any particular shires, or names, or kingdoms?”

Eivor shook his head. “I’m afraid not. All I know is that they were Saxons, but they weren’t bandits. They ambushed us in the middle of the night, and fought under no banner.”

Gjuki furrowed his brow in confusion. “No banner? Interesting...”

“Why do you say that?”

“Saxons typically fly their colors proudly on the battlefield. It may surprise you, but they are just as proud of their tenacity as we are. It is odd to me that the Saxons who attacked you would hide their sigil. Unless, of course, they were trying to conceal themselves. Which... in that case, tells me they knew they shouldn’t have been there.”

Eivor was beginning to follow his thoughts. “You’re saying that this was meant to be a secret?”

Gjuki held up an index finger. “Precisely. Whoever ambushed your clan is clearly not in a position where they would be able to attack you out in the open. Not without causing conflict elsewhere, that is. Maybe they are from a shire that supports you, or at odds with one of your allies themselves. Whatever the case may be, they knew this assault would not go over well if other people found out.”

The viking shrugged. “So, what’s your plan?”

The bard stood up from his seat, picking up his lute from the ground. “I will travel to Ravensthorpe and see what other clues I can find. Assuming they haven’t cleaned up the carnage already, I’d like to take a look at the Saxons’ bodies; see if they hold any information. In the meantime, I’ll also start spreading some rumors about the attack. It may not seem like much, but if we pay attention to how other shires react, we may be able to find our target.”

Eivor nodded in approval. “I like that idea. I shall go with you. I know my way around Ravensthorpe. I can aid you in your search.”

Gjuki disagreed. “No. You stay here. You must recover if you are to fight against your enemies, and besides, Oswald would have my head if I let you walk out of Elmenham in this condition.”

The Norse chuckled, holding his hands up in defeat. “Very well. You make a fair point.”

“Is there anything else you’d like me to know before I leave?” Gjuki asked. “I do not know for certain when I’ll return, and I’d rather not risk sending a letter to you. Never know who might grab it along the way.”

Eivor pondered the question for a moment. He _did_ have one other request in mind, but was hesitant to say it aloud.

“Well... y-yes. But it is a lot to ask.”

Gjuki urged him on. “Please, speak your mind, Eivor.”

The viking’s gaze fell to the ground in sorrow. “...If it’s possible, could you find out what happened to my brother, Sigurd? The last time I saw him, he had been shot with an arrow and thrown into the river. I never had the chance to retrieve his body. If he’s still around there somewhere, could you bring him back?”

The bard’s tone softened with empathy. “Of course. I make no promises that I’ll be able to find him, but I give you my word that I will try. If Sigurd remains in Ravensthorpe, we will ensure you have a body to bury.”

Eivor gave him an appreciative look. “Thank you, Gjuki. I realize this is a daunting task, but I honestly don’t know what else I can do.”

“Have no fear,” he reassured. “Your assault on Burgh Castle is the only reason I got the chance to escape from Rued and reclaim my honor. The way I see it, I _owe_ you this.”

Gjuki waved a quick goodbye, sauntering away from the tree’s protective shade.

“I will inform you of my progress as soon as I can. Until then, wait here. It is likely that whoever conducted this assault has learned of your survival, and I have no doubts that they will try to finish what they started.”


	6. Pack of Wolves

**ONE WEEK LATER**

**FORANGAL CASTLE, THE COURTYARD**

Swinging the wooden blade with a firm grip, Sigurd sent Edric stumbling backwards as the other man lost hold of his sword and collapsed to the ground, bringing their fight to a close.

At the moment, they were engaging in a friendly spar in the middle of the courtyard and spending the morning away from their noble duties, hoping to catch a minute of peace.

Things had calmed down somewhat ever since Sigurd first arrived at Forangal, and most of the people seemed to have finally accepted that their new friend wasn’t going anywhere soon, but Edric feared tensions would only rise again with the upcoming visit of one of the local thegns.

Due to the surprising increase of Dane activity in Wedenscire recently, Ealdorman Aegenwulf had called upon one of his old friends -- a man by the name of Raedan -- and summoned him to the castle for an official meeting.

Apparently, Raedan was one of the strongest thegns in the shire -- in addition to being one of the most respected -- and held quite a reputation for battling his fair share of vikings. He resided in a peaceful corner of England’s countryside nowadays with his wife and two children, but his sword was never out of arm’s reach.

The man sounded like a warrior just based on what Edric had told Sigurd so far. He may have been an Anglo-Saxon at heart, but it was clear that he didn’t share the diplomatic methods of his fellow thegns. 

He often favored taking the more aggressive approach when it came to confronting vikings, and considering how much this war was taking a turn for the worse, Sigurd only assumed that Aegenwulf had called for his aid out of sheer desperation.

Was there another clan he wished to wipe out? Did he plan to carry out a second assault? Or was there something else brewing beneath the surface, waiting to erupt? He supposed only time would tell.

“Ah...!” Edric panted, worn out from the fight. “You beat me again! I knew Norse warriors were strong, but... my goodness. You fight with the wrath of God Himself...!”

Sigurd smirked, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You do yourself a disservice, Edric. For a man of your age, you are not so gentle either.”

The nobleman chuckled. “You are kind, but it’s evident to me that I must polish some of my skills. The trainers we have here in Forangal -- they’ve taught me nothing of _true_ battle. Most of them treat me like a doll. They fear that I’ll break if they hit me too hard.”

“Then they are _also_ doing you a disservice. Realwar will not coddle you. They are only setting you up for defeat.”

Edric nodded in agreement. “I suppose they are, aren’t they? Or perhaps they’re just afraid of what my father will do if they whack me over the head too firmly. I know plenty of them have received an earful from other lords whose sons ran crying to them when they ended up with a black eye. Well, fortunately for me, I have _you_ here now. Maybe you can change things.”

Sigurd reached a hand out. “I think I already have. Unless, of course, your bishop is _always_ this irate.”

The young man sighed deeply, allowing his friend to pull him up. “Hundwerth _still_ hasn’t gotten over it, has he? I swear, you’d think the Devil himself pissed in his ale with how he constantly behaves. I hope he hasn’t given you too much trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Sigurd replied. “I have dealt with many other Saxons like him before. I am no stranger to his type.”

“No, I imagine you aren’t. Still, I wish he’d treat you with more civility. You have yet to give us any reason to distrust you, and frankly, Hundwerth is only making things worse in the castle with his incessant arguing. But, I digress...”

Patting his clothes clean of any dirt, Edric retrieved his fallen sword and neatly placed it back on the rack, eager to have a rest.

“Thank you for training with me today, Sigurd. I know it’s not technically _your_ decision whether or not you get to spend time with me, but I am still grateful for your company. I realize this past week has been difficult for you.”

The viking smiled warmly. “It’s my pleasure. Out of all the people in Forangal, you and your siblings have been the most hospitable. It’s a great relief to have you around.”

Edric beamed at the compliment. “I’m glad to hear it. Though, I fear things will only get more difficult from now on, what with the upcoming arrival of Thegn Raedan.”

Sigurd crossed his arms. “Remind me, when is he coming?”

“If things go according to plan, he and his family should be here by tomorrow morning. They were supposed to be here _today,_ but from what I understand, they were held up by some... ‘complications.’ Details are vague, but it’s pretty clear that Danes were involved.”

“What makes you say that?”

Edric took on a more serious tone. “Keep this between us, but I overheard Raedan’s messenger say that they spotted a group of Danes lurking in the woods north of Agenbury. They didn’t attack anyone, but their presence was enough for Raedan to delay the journey for one night. It doesn’t sound like anything urgent -- yet -- but I’d be lying if I said the news didn’t have me on edge.”

Sigurd paused for a moment. “Agenbury? That’s just outside of Forangal. Is it normal for Danes to be so close?”

“Apart from you? No. Sometimes, we’ll get the occasional straggler wandering about these parts, but it’s rare to see an entire pack of them traveling together like that. And unlike your situation, I didn’t get the impression that these Danes were here by accident. It makes me wonder what they’re really doing here.”

The viking furrowed his brow on thought. “I agree, that _does_ sound odd.”

Edric shrugged in a casual manner. “Well, if we _do_ end up having any trouble with them, perhaps you could try to smooth things over. I realize that not all Danes are bound by camaraderie as some Saxons would believe, but still, it’d be a better chance than one of _our_ people approaching them.”

Sigurd wasn’t so sure. “Hmm. Possibly. _Or..._ it could just make things even worse.”

“How do you mean?”

“Many Danes have a mutual hatred for your people,” Sigurd explained. “They would treat you with the same animosity that Hundwerth has treated me. If they see a Norse such as myself defending you, they might see it as betrayal.”

Edric nodded in understanding. “Ah. I see. I suppose that’s to be expected. Danes have a strong sense of loyalty, do they not?”

The Norse grinned at the understatement. “Oh, yes. We do, indeed. Especially among our clans. There is nothing we wouldn’t do for our own people, and that gives us strength.”

“What about _your_ clan?” Edric asked, bringing the other man to a halt. “I know you said you travel alone nowadays, but... you must’ve had one before, right? What happened to them? Why did you leave?”

Sigurd hesitated for a second, trying not to dwell on the grief that still racked his heart. 

“I... didn’t leave.” He clarified, his voice much softer now. “They were killed. All of them. Including my brother. It’s possible that some could have survived, but if they did... I’ve yet to find them. The rest of us have simply... scattered to the winds.”

Edric picked up on the man’s pain, suddenly feeling the urge to console him. 

“...I’m sorry.” He said, resting a hand on Sigurd’s arm. “It seems that the cruelties of this war know no boundaries. I only hope that, one day, we may see the sun rise in the morning without having to fear whether or not we’ll see it set.”

The Norseman shared his sentiment. “As do I. Perhaps _then_ we will finally know true peace.”

Trailing off into silence, Sigurd placed his sword down and stared blankly into the distance, mindlessly gravitating towards Edric’s comforting gaze.

He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something... _new_ in the nobleman’s eyes; a subtle glint of fondness. He seemed to be drawn to his viking counterpart and looked at him in a manner similar to the way Randvi once did, and if Sigurd didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Edric was... _infatuated_ with him.

But... no. He had to be mistaken. Sigurd knew how much stricter the Saxons were when it came to men fancying other men, and even though Edric had butted heads with Hundwerth in the past, it was still quite clear that he lived his life according to God’s word. There was no way he would’ve allowed himself to develop such feelings.

Though, despite his reluctance to admit it, Sigurd couldn’t hide the fact that a part of him shared Edric’s affection. The nobleman was rather handsome in the viking’s opinion, and with every day he spent accompanying the young lord around the castle, he found it harder to deny how he truly felt.

But even then, Sigurd was aware that he had to control his thoughts. He was nothing more than a servant to Aegenwulf and his family, and it was not his place to engage in such a relationship with one of his masters. He had just started to gain the ealdorman’s trust after days of keeping his head down, and he did not wish to besmirch himself now.

“I, um...” Sigurd said awkwardly, clearing his throat, “I think we should... return to our duties.”

Edric snapped back to reality and swiftly pulled his hand away, suddenly wondering if he had overstepped his boundaries.

“Oh, right...!” He blurted out sheepishly. “Of course. Forgive me.”

The young man turned away from Sigurd, knotting his hands together in embarrassment.

“Erm, p-perhaps we could retire to the kitchen for now? I hear that Nelda’s in the process of making a fresh batch of soul cakes. You should try one. I think you’d like them. They’re quite good at this--”

“--Lone Wolf!”

Bringing their conversation to a halt, both Sigurd and Edric turned to the side when a third voice abruptly barged into the scene, shattering the calm nature of the courtyard with their gruff bellowing.

“...Algar.” Sigurd said lowly, glaring at their guest. “What do _you_ want?”

The housecarl dismissed the viking’s question and approached Edric, throwing a nonchalant smirk at him.

“You ought to teach your new pet some manners, my lord. He doesn’t learn his place soon enough, he’s bound to get hurt.”

Edric crossed his arms, instantly switching to a more assertive temperament. “Sigurd is not some dog to be led around on a leash, Algar. He is a man, just like you and me. And I expect him to be treated as such. Now, I believe he asked you a question.”

Algar chuckled at the young man’s defiance and brought his attention back to Sigurd, pointing a finger at him.

“You. Come with me. The ealdorman wants to see you.”

“What for?”

Algar shrugged. “Does it matter? Just come along.”

Sigurd didn’t budge just yet. “Forgive me if I’m somewhat hesitant. I only want to make sure I’m not walking into a potential execution like the last time you dragged me around the castle.”

Edric joined in. “I would also like to know the reason. Is everything alright with my father?”

The housecarl sighed, resting a foot on a nearby stump as he spoke. “There’s no need to worry your pretty little face, young lord. Ealdorman Aegenwulf merely has concerns about the Dane activity in Wedenscire, and wants to know if your bodyguard here is connected to it.”

The nobleman glanced at Sigurd. “...Are you suggesting he’s betrayed us?”

Algar shook his head. “In order for one to be a traitor, one must first be a friend. I don’t think Sigurd can exactly call himself that yet. Do you?”

Sigurd stepped between Algar and Edric, tired of the housecarl’s games.

“Enough running around in circles. If you have questions to ask of me, ask. I have nothing to hide.”

The other man smiled darkly. “...You sure about that, Lone Wolf? I suppose we’ll see soon enough, won’t we? Well then, right this way.” 

Removing his foot from the stump, Algar promptly turned on his heel and began making his way out of the courtyard, beckoning Sigurd to follow him with a simple wave. Before the viking could leave however, Edric quickly grabbed the man’s arm and held him back for a moment, whispering a few words of caution in his ear.

“...Be careful, Sigurd. I don’t like where this is going.”

The older man nodded. “Have no fear, my lord. I won’t let my guard down.”

“Good. Don’t. I’d like for you to return to me in one piece.”

“I’ll be alright, Edric. Do not worry about me.”

A light laugh escaped the Saxon’s lips. “A task much easier said than done, I’m afraid. But I suppose it’s out of my hands now. If my father has summoned you, it’s best not to keep him waiting. Go on. I’ll see you afterwards.”

Deciding to let it go for now, Edric released his friend -- albeit somewhat reluctantly -- and allowed the Norse to follow in Algar’s footsteps, leaving him alone in the courtyard. 

He didn’t know if the housecarl’s intentions were sincere, or if there was some sort of ulterior motive lurking in the background, but regardless of whatever the case was, Edric had to admit that he felt uncomfortable leaving Sigurd alone with him.

The man was a snake. Everyone knew it. Despite his gargantuan size, Algar often clung to the shadows like a thief and slithered his way around words, twisting people’s minds as if they were nothing more than toys for him to play with. He molded people with their own fear, and broke them to the point of no return.

He was _technically_ bound to Aegenwulf’s command, but Edric had no doubts he would harm Sigurd if he felt it necessary. Algar seemed to operate based on his own code, and that put the nobleman on edge.

Letting out a sigh, Edric returned to his duties and pushed his thoughts away for the moment, deciding to carry on with his morning. Even though he was concerned about Sigurd’s well-being, he knew it was no longer within his control to determined what happened to him. That man’s fate was in Aegenwulf’s hands now, and Edric would just have to hope for the best.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A WHILE LATER**

**ALGAR’S CHAMBERS**

Stepping into the dimly-lit room, Sigurd felt a sense of alarm settling into his chest as he followed Algar into his quarters, flicking his eyes around in nervousness.

Contrary to what he expected, Aegenwulf was nowhere to be seen. There were no signs that the ealdorman had been there recently, and just based on the housecarl’s laid-back demeanor, Sigurd assumed he wouldn’t be showing up anytime soon.

He glanced around the room and placed his hands on his hips, shrugging at Algar.

“Where’s the ealdorman?” Sigurd asked in an accusatory tone. “I thought you said he wanted to see me.”

The other man scoffed, shutting the door behind them. “Aegenwulf is irrelevant to this conversation. _This..._ is between you and me.”

“...So you lied.”

Algar strode over to his end table and grabbed the pitcher that sat on its surface, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“I did only what was necessary. I knew Edric would never free you into my grasp if he was aware we’d be alone.” 

The Saxon turned to face Sigurd, taking a sip from his goblet. “It seems the young lord has grown fond of you. I have to admit, that’s an outcome even _I_ wasn’t expecting.”

Sigurd leaned against a wall, crossing his arms. “You didn’t expect me to survive Ravensthorpe either.”

Algar grinned. “True enough. I suppose you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

The viking grew impatient. “What is this about, Algar? Why have you brought me here?”

The housecarl remained silent for a moment and simply drank more of his wine, allowing his thoughts to realign themselves before firmly setting the cup back down on the table.

“...Who did you tell?” He finally asked, leaving Sigurd in a state of confusion.

“What? Who did I tell about what?”

Algar shot him a fierce glare. “Oh, spare me the act. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You told someone about the attack on Ravensthorpe, didn’t you? Well, who was it? Who was your contact? Where are they now?”

Sigurd shook his head in frustration. “You’re spewing nonsense, Saxon. No one in Forangal besides you and Aegenwulf knows about Ravensthorpe. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The housecarl prowled towards the Norseman. “Is that so? Then explain to me why there’s a group of Danes in Wedenscire at this very moment investigating the ambush. I assume you heard about Thegn Raedan’s delay? Well, he postponed his journey _because_ of these Danes. And coincidentally, they happen to be near Agenbury. The same town you first visited.”

“How am I supposed to know? Not all Danes have a connection with each other.”

“No, but as I said before, they are specifically investigating the ambush in Ravensthorpe. And on top of that, my scouts also report that they originate from East Anglia -- one of the kingdoms allied with _your_ clan. You expect me to believe that this has _nothing_ to do with you?”

Sigurd sighed, already growing weary of the man’s obstinacy.

“How would I even get the word out? I’m trapped in a castle full of Saxons who would see me dead if they knew my true identity. What, you think I just strolled up to someone and asked for their aid? Don’t be foolish.”

Algar formed his own conclusion. “Well, if _you_ didn’t tell anyone, then that means someone outside of Wedenscire knows about the attack.”

Sigurd’s brow furrowed in resentment. “Perhaps you weren’t as thorough as you thought. There could be other survivors.”

The housecarl narrowed his eyes. “And I suppose you expect me to believe that these ‘survivors’ have yet to try to reach you?”

“What I have to say means nothing. You’ve clearly made up your mind.”

Algar let out a breath, deciding to drop the subject for now. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to get any information out of Sigurd with this method, and unlike other prisoners, he didn’t have the option of dragging him to the torture chambers. He’d have to think of another approach.

“Fine,” he said plainly. “Keep your secrets, Norse. I _will_ learn the truth eventually, whether you like it or not. In the meantime, see to it that you stick to your duties. If you give me even the _smallest_ reason to suspect betrayal, I will _not_ hesitate to strike you down.”

The Saxon walked over to the door and yanked it open, gesturing for Sigurd to leave.

“Now, get out of here. I have much that I must attend to.”

Pushing himself off the wall, Sigurd gladly removed himself from Algar’s chambers and headed for the exit, eager to take his leave. 

Just before he could step through the entrance though, a sudden thought crossed his mind and stopped him in his tracks, causing him to glance over his shoulder as he asked one last thing.

“Before I go,” he said despondently, lingering in the doorway, “I _need_ to know -- what exactly did you do to Eivor? How... how did my brother die?”

Algar’s signature smirk returned upon hearing the question and he leaned against the frame, causing the wood to creak.

“Still hurting, are we? You need to let him go, love. He’s not coming back.”

The viking glowered at him. “You think I don’t know that? I _know_ he’s dead. I _know_ my home is gone. But I need to know what happened to him. I _need_ to know whether he died a warrior’s death.”

The Saxon tilted his head in a taunting fashion. “...Your brother died gracefully, Sigurd. He died in a bed of flowers surrounded by his family, and asked me to tell you that he always loved you. We shipped him off on a boat of fire, and soon after, the Valkyries brought him to Valhalla. Now, he feasts and drinks in your name at Odin’s side, waiting for you to join him as he prepares for the Twilight of the Gods. A true warrior’s paradise.”

Sigurd clenched his jaw in hatred, having to restrain himself from attacking Algar right then and there. He knew the man was only trying to rile him up, but the pain of Eivor’s loss remained deep in his heart, and he couldn’t help but feel a certain rage boiling inside him.

“...Your time will come, Algar,” Sigurd practically growled, his voice barely above a whisper. “And when it does, I’ll be there, standing over you and smiling down at your mutilated corpse as the light flickers from your eyes.”

Algar was hardly fazed by the threat. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lone Wolf. Run along, now. I’m sure Lord Edric is eager to see you.”

Calming himself down, Sigurd simply turned away from the housecarl without saying another word and stormed off into the distance, not even bothering to acknowledge the prying eyes of the Saxons who stood outside.

He knew it was unwise to let his anger run free in such a manner, but in spite of all his attempts to stifle it, Sigurd’s wrath only seemed to burn brighter with each passing day. There was a feeling of hopelessness that he just couldn’t shake off, and with Algar constantly fanning the flames of his grief, part of him feared that he would no longer be able to contain it.

He was only human, after all, and he had his limits just like everyone else. But for the sake of not jeopardizing his relationship with Aegenwulf and his family, Sigurd forced himself to hold it back.

He was already short on friends in this godforsaken castle, and considering the fact that yet _another_ thegn was soon to be in their midst, Sigurd knew it would be foolish to betray the ealdorman’s trust at such an early time.

The Nornir put him on this path for a reason, and regardless of any struggles he may have had to endure along the way, Sigurd decided to put his faith in their judgement for now. 

They were the only ones guiding his hand in this obscure land, and he did not wish to defy their plans.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**THAT EVENING**

**IN THE WOODS OUTSIDE FORANGAL**

“Gjuki!” Broder called out, walking over to the man as he observed the distant castle. “The disguises are ready.”

Gjuki kept his eyes on the walls of Forangal and studied the guards’ routines, meticulously searching for an opening.

“And what of the Saxon thegn?” He questioned. “Any updates on his whereabouts?”

“He hasn’t reached Forangal yet,” Broder answered. “Our scouts say he plans to arrive tomorrow morning at the main gates. Everyone will be there to welcome him, including the ealdorman.”

Gjuki seemed pleased with the news. “Good. Then everything should go smoothly.”

“The plan is still the same?”

The bard looked away from the castle, slowly making his way back to their camp. “Yes. At dawn, we’ll catch up with Raedan’s personal guard and sneak into their ranks. From there, we’ll follow him all the way to Forangal and infiltrate the castle’s walls.”

Broder shrugged. “And then?”

“...Then, we keep an eye out for Eivor’s brother.”

The other man remained skeptical. “You really think Sigurd is still alive? You heard what Eivor said. The man was shot _twice_ before he fell into the river. Chances are he drowned, or died before he even hit the water.”

Gjuki wasn’t convinced. “Do not be so quick to dismiss the unlikely, Broder. It happens more often than you think. Even though I am not yet certain if the fisherman in Agenbury was speaking of the same man, I _do_ believe it is possible at the very least. The Dane he rescued from the river matches Eivor’s description perfectly, and the timing of his arrival is somewhat suspicious.”

Broder decided to humor him. “Fine. Let’s say we _do_ find Sigurd. What then? How are we supposed to get him back home?”

Gjuki sighed, chewing his lip in thought. “I’m afraid I do not yet have an answer for _that_. If Sigurd _is_ in Forangal, it’s most-likely that he’s under heavy guard. Possibly in the dungeons. If we find him, we’ll report it to Eivor first. I think we’ve left him in the dark for long enough, don’t you?”

“Whatever you think is right, Gjuki.”

The bard smiled. “Good. Then we should focus on getting some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day, and if everything goes according to plan, we’ll be surrounded by Saxon forces soon enough. I don’t want any of you letting your guard down.”

Broder gave him a firm nod. “Understood.”

“Come, my friend,” Gjuki beckoned, guiding the other man with a hand on the shoulder. “The day is young, and our bellies are still empty. Let us drink to our good fortune, and pray that the gods favor us in the times to come. Odin knows we’ll need it.”


	7. Tempest

**THE NEXT MORNING**

**SIGURD’S CHAMBERS**

Sitting quietly on the edge of his bed, Sigurd stared bleakly out through the tall window in front of him as he watched people gather at the main gate and huddle together in the cold, waiting for the arrival of their beloved Thegn.

At the moment, he was fidgeting with a simple dagger in his hands and twirling the sharp blade between his fingers, silently contemplating to himself about what to do next.

He was already suited up in his armor and ready to join the siblings down at the front of the castle, but despite the urgency of the day’s agenda, Sigurd found himself completely devoid of any motivation.

He just... didn’t know what the point of this was anymore. Why was he still fighting? Why was he bothering trying to survive? Even if he somehow managed to make it through this storm that was now headed his way, Sigurd failed to see what he would gain from struggling against its binds.

Eivor was dead. Randvi was dead. Everyone he loved had been slaughtered, and damned to the icy pits of Helheim for eternity. There was no hope of ever seeing them again, and with Aegenwulf’s men constantly kicking him down, Sigurd wondered if he should’ve just given in to them.

It didn’t matter much to him if he didn’t make it to Valhalla. The rest of his family was in Hel, anyway. The only thing left in his life that carried any sort of significance was the temptation of revenge, and even _that_ seemed far out of reach.

But... what if this was what the Nornir intended for him? What if he was never _meant_ to reunite with his brother? Had the gods placed Sigurd on this path in order to lead him to peace? Or were they simply driving him towards vengeance?

Well, whatever the case was, Sigurd wasn’t ready to throw his hands up in defeat just yet. He still had some strength left in him, and Tyr willing, he would use it to take Algar down once and for all.

“...I’m going to kill him, Eivor...” he whispered lifelessly, gazing at the weapon in his hands. “His death may not bring you back, but at least I can reclaim the honor he stole from us. I owe you that much, after everything that’s happened.”

Slowly rising from the bed, Sigurd slid the dagger back into its sheathe and adjusted the cloak hanging from his shoulders, striding over to the door. He wasn’t eager to present himself to the judgmental eyes of Forangal’s people, or deal with Algar’s nonsense once again, but for the sake of avoiding suspicion, he simply stifled his rage and put on a neutral face, hoping to conceal the fire that burned within.

He may not’ve been in a position to do anything just yet, but Sigurd had faith that his moment for revenge would come. Things like this often came when one least expected it, and in spite of all the suffering he had endured thus far, a part of him still hoped that the gods would grant him the opportunity eventually. 

He was just one man at the end of the day, but he carried the strength of his entire clan with him. And that gave him power.

Swinging the door open, Sigurd nearly stepped out into the corridor until he noticed someone else standing his tracks, causing him to come to an abrupt halt. Their fist was raised in the air as if they were just about to knock on the door, and judging by the perturbed look on their face, Sigurd assumed it wasn’t for a good reason.

He took a step back, stopping to greet his visitor.

“Edric?” Sigurd said, somewhat surprised.

A wave of relief washed over the young man’s expression. “Ah, Sigurd. There you are. I was looking for you.”

“You were? Is there something you need, my lord?”

“No,” Edric replied, his voice gentle with care. “I merely wanted to see how you were doing. I saw Edlynne and Joseph heading down to the main gate earlier, but you weren’t with them. And you certainly weren’t with _me,_ so I feared something may have happened.”

Sigurd threw him a puzzled glance. “...Such as?”

The nobleman leaned against the doorframe, lowering the volume of his voice. “...People have been whispering ever since Algar spoke with you yesterday. They say you stormed out of his chambers like a beast on the hunt, and even Edlynne confessed she was worried about you. Did... something happen between you and Algar? He didn’t harm you, did he?”

Sigurd shook his head. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just...”

The Norseman trailed off into silence, reluctant to say more. He did not wish to lie to Edric, but he knew the consequences of what would happen if he told the truth.

“...He and I have our own disputes to settle.” Sigurd answered vaguely, his tone sharp with spite. “It is not something I wish to burden you with.”

Edric furrowed his brow in concern and let out a quiet sigh, unsure of what else to say. He had attempted to break down the wall between him and Sigurd more than a few times now, but it was evident that the man was adamant on keeping his thoughts to himself.

“I wish Algar wouldn’t hound you so often.” The young lord said. “He has no right to belittle you in such a way, and yet my father does nothing to tighten his reins. He’d do well to remind that man of his place.”

Sigurd remained stoic. “I can handle him, Edric. Algar is no more than a snake. His time will come.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but still... tensions are high enough as it is in Wedenscire. The last thing we need is Algar striking a flame with his constant war-mongering.”

The viking almost laughed aloud at Edric’s words. _If only he knew._

“Well, anyway,” the Saxon continued, “enough of that. We have a thegn to greet. Raedan and his family are nearly at Forangal, and I’d prefer not to keep them waiting. Bear in mind, though, Sigurd -- should you ever need to get your thoughts out in the open, I’m always willing to lend an ear. I know how detrimental it can be to one’s well-being when they carry such burdens alone.”

Sigurd gave him an appreciative nod. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll remember that.”

Edric chuckled affectionately. “You know you can just call me Edric, right? There’s no need for such formalities.”

“Your father would disagree.”

The young man dismissed the concern. “My father is his own man, and so am I. You may be my bodyguard, but I see no need to treat you like a servant.”

The Norseman returned the smile. “...Very well, then. Edric it is.”

“Good.” Edric replied, removing himself from the doorframe. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, shall we get going?”

Sigurd reached an arm out, gesturing down the hallway. “Lead on.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A FEW MINUTES LATER**

**THE MAIN GATE**

Standing alongside one other, Joseph and Edlynne stuck together at the front of the crowd as they waited in anticipation for Raedan’s arrival, eager to see the man and his family after all these years.

Even though they feared what would happen once he learned of Sigurd’s presence, the twins couldn’t deny that they were excited to see their father’s old friend again. It had been a long time since the thegn last set foot in Forangal thanks to the troubles of the war, and his children were also good friends with the twins themselves.

On the downside though, they were well aware of Raedan’s views towards vikings. He had lost family members of his own to their raids, and they had no doubts that Sigurd’s recent promotion would strain the peace a bit.

Fortunately however, Raedan _was_ known to be a more respectable man. Unlike Algar, he valued diplomacy and restraint just as much as he did battle-prowess. He knew when one was more important than the other, and God willing, the twins hoped he’d be able to see sense today.

If not, Lord only knew what would happen.

“Bloody hell,” Joseph muttered, rubbing his hands together. “It’s freezing. Raedan couldn’t have arrived when the sun was higher in the sky?”

Edlynne rolled her eyes at her brother’s complaints. “Certainly, if you don’t mind him being delayed _again.”_

“I’m just saying, I’m much more of a gentleman when I’m not freezing my balls off.”

“Joseph...!” She scolded, reminding him of his vulgarity.

“Oh, relax. I won’t speak that way when Raedan’s around.”

Edlynne humorously raised a brow at him. “But you’ll speak that way in front of me?”

_“You_ don’t have a great-sword sitting on your back.”

“Hush, you two.” A third voice jumped in, bringing the twins’ attention elsewhere.

Edlynne glanced to her side, feeling her chest loosen with relief once she saw who it was.

“Edric! You found Sigurd.”

“Indeed. I stopped by his chambers on the way here.”

The girl turned to the viking. “And you, Sigurd? Everything’s alright, I hope?”

The bodyguard nodded. “I’m well, Edlynne. You needn’t worry about me. I... apologize if I frightened you.”

Edlynne shook her head. “You didn’t frighten me. I was only concerned about what Algar may have done to you. I know how insufferable that man can be.”

Sigurd chuckled. “As do I. Believe me.”

Joseph let out a disapproving sigh. “That bastard looked awfully smug this morning when he was waltzing around with father. I have a bad feeling about where this is going. It’s never a good sign when someone like Algar is in high spirits.”

Edric stood next to the twins, placing himself closest to the gate. “Well, it won’t do us any good to speculate based on rumors. Now be quiet, both of you. Raedan and his family will be here soon. And for God’s sake, remember your manners.”

Joseph grinned playfully. “Yes, mother.”

Taking his position among the siblings, Sigurd lingered quietly beside them as he watched Aegenwulf’s guards get into formation, surrounding the gate in an orderly fashion.

Everywhere around him, he saw banners with Aegenwulf’s sigil flying proudly in the wind as they stood tall under the great white sky, dancing wildly in the breeze.

It was the same banner that would’ve been flying over Ravensthorpe by now if Algar hadn’t kept the ambush a secret. Much like a gravestone, they seemed to tower over the entire castle like a testament to the cruelty of their ealdorman’s housecarl, and every time Sigurd looked at it, he couldn’t help but think of all the souls that were lost on that tragic night.

“Open the gate!” One of the guards cried from the battlements, breaking Sigurd out of his thoughts. “Thegn Raedan has arrived!”

Taking hold of the gate’s controls, the guards began to steadily turn the mechanism as the castle opened itself to its esteemed guest, causing everyone inside the walls to fall into silence. 

Within the blink of an eye, an entire unit of soldiers had poured in through the entrance and filled the space with an impressive display of knights, all of them dressed head-to-toe in armor. Maroon capes fluttered behind them as they rode into Forangal on horseback, and in the center of their party, Sigurd spotted Thegn Raedan himself, sitting atop his mount in a dignified manner.

Sigurd had to admit, the man wasn’t what he expected. Contrary to the clean-cut, pristine nobleman he had envisioned in his head, Raedan actually looked much rougher in reality.

He was a tall, burly Saxon with the pride of a king, and the mindset of a warrior. His hair was long, brown, untamed, and he had a bushy beard clinging onto his chin. Streaks of grey could be seen dotting the wild strands of his mane, and on his neck, Sigurd noticed a simple cross hanging from a string.

As for the man himself, Raedan appeared to be slightly younger than Aegenwulf. His skin wasn’t creased with quite as many wrinkles, but it was still clear that he had experienced his own fair share of battle. A multitude of faint scars dusted the surface of his flesh, and hiding just underneath his sleeve, Sigurd could’ve sworn he saw an old burn clutching onto his wrist.

The Saxon thegn was certainly a sight to behold, and just based on the sheer amount of soldiers that were within his company, the Norseman thought it was safe to assume that Joseph’s instincts were probably right. A war was definitely brewing behind closed doors, and Raedan was going to play a vital role in it.

“Raedan, my friend!” Aegenwulf greeted joyously, strolling down the center of the courtyard with Algar in tow. The housecarl threw a side glance at Sigurd along the way, grinning in malice.

“Aegenwulf, you old dog!” Raedan replied with a hearty guffaw, dismounting his horse. “There you are! Lord knows I’ve missed that ugly face!”

The ealdorman laughed. “And I, yours.”

The two of them met in the middle, embracing each other in a friendly hug.

“Oh, Aegenwulf,” Raedan said, his tone softened by a tinge of nostalgia, “it’s been far too long, old friend. _Far_ too long.”

“Yes, it has. I fear I have grown weary of this war in the recent years. It is a blessing to see you again.”

Raedan separated the hug, looking the ealdorman in the vehemently eye. “Indeed. I... heard about what happened to Gareth. Terrible shame, that. He was a fine warrior. Wise beyond his years. He will be eternally missed.”

Aegenwulf’s gaze fell to the ground. “Yes. My heart still bleeds for him everyday. His loss has left a crack in the foundation of our family, but with your help, I’m hoping that a fate like his will never be repeated.”

The thegn patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Of course. My sword is yours, Aegenwulf. Always.”

Bringing their conversation to a pause, the rest of Raedan’s family joined the scene, happily walking up to the ealdorman.

“Lady Moira,” Aegenwulf said with a smile, approaching Raedan’s wife. “The years have been much kinder to you, it seems.”

The woman beamed at him. “You flatter me, Aegenwulf. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I know my children have certainly missed the familiar walls of Forangal.”

“How _are_ Henry and Sibley? I trust they are doing well?”

She stepped to the side, revealing two adolescents behind her. “You can ask them yourself. Children, you remember Ealdorman Aegenwulf, don’t you?”

The older sibling, Henry, gave the man a timid nod of acknowledgement. He appeared to be around the same age as Joseph, and had a head of blond hair.

“H-Hello, my lord.”

Moira let out a soft _tsk._ “Oh, come now, Hal. There’s no need to be shy. You’ve known Aegenwulf and his family ever since you were just a child.”

The ealdorman chuckled. “The boy’s behavior is understandable. It’s been years since we last met. I fear our memory has faded somewhat. Though, it’s clear he’s grown into a fine young man.”

“Indeed,” Moira agreed. “He’s becoming more and more like his father everyday. Apart from the poetry, that is.”

Aegenwulf quirked a brow. “You write poetry?”

Henry knotted his hands together. “...I-It’s nothing special, really.”

“Take pride in your passions, young man. They are the things that define us, after all.”

The ealdorman brought his attention to Henry’s little sister, Sibley. She was a young girl -- roughly a year or two behind Edlynne -- and shared her father’s hazel-colored hair.

“And Lady Sibley, how do you fare in these trying times?”

“I’m well, considering the circumstances.” She replied. “I think me and my brother are both just shaken up by the Danes we encountered yesterday.”

Aegenwulf shot Raedan a concerned glance. “You encountered Danes?”

The other man crossed his arms. “Not quite. As my messenger told you, we saw them wandering around in the woods near Agenbury. They were a little too close for comfort, but fortunately, they seemed to be too preoccupied with other matters to notice us. However, I _did_ note that they were heading this way.”

The ealdorman rubbed his chin in thought. “Is that so?”

“Yes. You were wise to call for me, Aegenwulf. I fear that trouble will soon be knocking on your door.”

“Hmm. Then perhaps it’d be best if we got to work as soon as possible.”

Raedan held a hand up. “Hold on a moment, old friend. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

The ealdorman paused. “Am I--? Oh! Yes.” He turned around to face his own family, guiding the thegn to the crowd that stood before them.

“You remember my son, Edric.” Aegenwulf said, gesturing to the young man.

Raedan laughed in disbelief, eyeing the boy from head-to-toe.

“ _Edric?_ Is that you, lad?” 

The nobleman smiled at him. “Hello, Raedan. It’s good to see you again.”

“My God,” Raedan remarked cheerfully, patting Edric on the shoulder. “Look at that beard! And you’ve become so much taller as well. You’re growing far too fast, young man. You and I will have to spar sometime.”

The thegn brought his focus to the twins. “And Joseph and Edlynne. My goodness... the last time I saw you both, you were no higher than my knees. Now look at you. Standing tall and proud like a true set of nobles. Aegenwulf must be pleased.”

Edlynne’s expression radiated at the compliment. “We missed you, Raedan. And your family as well. It’s been so long since we last had the opportunity to get together.”

Raedan nodded. “Aye. Feels like an eternity ago. I trust you and your brother are staying safe?”

Joseph shrugged. “As safe as we _can_ be, my lord.”

“It gladdens me to hear it.”

Letting his gaze travel further down the crowd, Raedan suddenly came to an abrupt halt when he noticed Sigurd standing at the twins’ side, studying his every move like a wolf watching from the woods.

Neither of them said anything to each other, but purely based on the slight shift in Raedan’s mood, everyone could tell that a sense of unease had settled into the courtyard.

“...You have a Dane with you?” Raedan asked, his tone completely devoid of any warmth.

Aegenwulf walked up to the two of them, hoping to calm his friend’s nerves. “He’s a Norse, actually. This is Sigurd the Lone Wolf. He joined us recently.”

“Joined?”

“Yes. He is the one responsible for protecting my children.”

Raedan tilted his head. “A _Norse_ bodyguard? In Forangal? Are you certain that’s wise, old friend?”

The ealdorman didn’t appear bothered. “Sigurd has yet to give me a reason to distrust him. In fact, he’s been quite efficient in his duties. He’s a skilled warrior, and he knows the consequences he will have to face should he betray my hospitality.”

“I certainly hope so. Norsemen _are_ formidable warriors, yes, but they don’t like to be ordered around. Trying to control them is like trying to tame the ocean. It’s an endeavor doomed to end in futility.”

Raedan stared into Sigurd’s ice-cold eyes, deciding to let the matter go for now. “...But I trust your judgement, Aegenwulf. If you feel this man is no threat to us, then I shan’t press any further. Though, a little caution would not be ill-advised. There’s a fire in this one. You’d do best to put it out.”

Aegenwulf took his friend’s opinion to heart. “Oh, believe me. I shall.”

Putting the subject aside, the ealdorman led the thegn away from the crowds and guided him into the castle, eager to carry on with their day.

“Come, let’s take this to the war room. We have much to discuss. Your family can get settled in their chambers in the meantime. My twins will show them the way.” Aegenwulf glanced back at his children. “Edric! I want you to join us.”

The nobleman stepped forward. “And Sigurd? What about him?”

“Let him stay. This conversation is for our ears only.”

“...Very well.”

Following his father to the war room, Edric swiftly strode away from the crowds and tagged along with the two Saxons, sticking close to them as Algar tailed them from behind.

Meanwhile, Sigurd remained with the twins and silently clung to the shadows, unwilling to open himself up to conversation. He had been in a foul mood ever since his exchange with Algar the previous day, and he had no interest in socializing at the moment.

“Joseph, Edlynne,” Henry said shyly, approaching the twins. “I’m glad to see you two are doing well after all these years.”

The girl returned the gesture. “And you, Hal. I have to admit, part of me was worried when we heard why you were delayed. Hopefully you didn’t run into too much trouble on the way here?”

Moira jumped in. “We’re quite alright, Edlynne. We arrived unscathed, thank the Lord. These Danes were not so aggressive as the others we have seen in the past. Though, I must confess, I _am_ somewhat...” her gaze traveled to Sigurd, “...skeptical, shall we say, about your new friend here.”

Edlynne looked up at the Norseman, placing a friendly hand on his arm. “You mean Sigurd? Have no fear, Lady Moira. He won’t harm you. Unless, of course, you give him a _reason_ to.”

“Is he Christian?”

The twins paused at that.

“No,” Joseph answered. “Why does it matter?”

The expression on Moira’s face said it should’ve been obvious. “Well, it’s difficult to trust the word of a heretic. If he has not converted to Christianity yet, I’d suggest working on that as soon as possible. I’d feel much better knowing that your safety were in the hands of a God-fearing man rather than a heathen. It’s just easier that way.”

Sigurd already grew tired of the woman’s imposing nature. “Leave me to my gods, Saxon, and I shall leave you to yours.”

Edlynne felt her heart skip at the viking’s dismissive response, attempting to reconcile with the noblewoman.

“Erm, w-what he means is, he may not be a Christian himself, but he bears no ill will towards those who are.”

Moira let out a breath, clearly somewhat offended. “...So I see.”

Joseph hurriedly switched topics, hoping to ease the tension between them. “S-Shall we show them to their rooms, sister? They’ve had a long journey, after all. Perhaps now would be a good time to let them rest.”

“Yes,” Edlynne fervently agreed. “Follow us, Lady Moira. We’ll show you where you and your family can stay. In the meantime,” she glanced at Sigurd, “maybe it’d be best if you stayed here...?”

It didn’t take long for him to catch the hint. “If that’s what you wish, my lady.”

“Very good. We’ll see you later then, Sigurd.”

Rushing Moira and her family away from the main gate, the twins eagerly separated them from the bodyguard and brought them into the castle, leaving Sigurd all by himself in the courtyard.

If the man was being honest, part of him felt relieved that Joseph and Edlynne left him behind. He didn’t wish to create conflict between Aegenwulf’s family and his new guests, but he feared he was on a short fuse today.

He just couldn’t stop thinking about Eivor. Algar had yet to be forthcoming about the details surrounding his death, and thus, Sigurd had been left to the cruelty of his imagination, forced to come up with his _own_ conclusion.

Anything could’ve happened to the man. For all he knew, Eivor could’ve died honorably as a warrior worthy of Odin’s halls just as Algar said, or... he could’ve died in a pile of ash, forsaken by the gods and desecrated by the housecarl’s atrocities.

Whatever the case was, Sigurd feared that he was falling into a darkness similar to the one that loomed over Aegenwulf. An insatiable desire for revenge burned deep within his veins, and he felt as if the world was swallowing him whole. A grief unlike any other relentlessly consumed his thoughts, and the harsh reality of his isolation in Forangal only made matters worse.

He was the only Norse here; the only one to fight in Odin’s name. Everyone else in the castle viewed him as a mad heretic, and even with those who may have been more cordial, Sigurd still found himself unable to be completely truthful.

He was no more than an outcast inside these walls. Aegenwulf’s children may have treated him with respect, but in the end, Sigurd knew this place would never be his home. 

His heart remained lost somewhere in the depths of Norway, and he wanted nothing more than to return to its icy shores. A voice more ethereal than that of any skald’s called him home, and he longed desperately to break free from his chains.

“Ugh, those Saxons...” a stranger suddenly said in Sigurd’s ear, “...always bleating like sheep. Is it any wonder that their kings have fallen so easily in our presence?”

The viking exchanged looks with the man at his side, confused about his remark. Much like Sigurd himself, the stranger was also wearing a suit of Saxon-made armor, and yet, he spoke in the language of the Norsemen.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sigurd asked.

The stranger lifted the visor of his helm, revealing a face marked with Nordic tattoos.

Sigurd’s eyes widened in realization. “...You’re a Norse...”

The man nodded, smirking subtly at him. “So are you, it seems. Convenient, don’t you think, how the Nornir have brought us together today?”

The bodyguard stumbled over his words, unsure of what exactly was going on. “I-I don’t understand. What’s Thegn Raedan doing with a Norse in his company?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know we’re here,” he explained. “That’s the whole point of the helms, you see.”

“We?” Sigurd caught. “There’s more of you?”

The man slid the visor back down, concealing his identity. “Indeed. So it’d probably be best if you avoided drawing any attention to us, lest we start a war with these sheep, yes?”

Sigurd lowered his voice, admittedly intrigued by the stranger’s motives. “Who are you? What are you doing here? What is it you want?”

“Before I answer your questions, allow me to raise one of my own.”

The bodyguard sighed. “Very well. But make it quick. I haven’t much time before those ‘sheep’ return.”

The man flicked his head from side-to-side, checking to make sure no one was listening. 

“Your name is Sigurd, yes? That’s what the ealdorman said? Well, I’m curious, you wouldn’t happen to be the son of Styrbjorn, would you? The drunkard king?”

He froze upon hearing the question. “...How do you know my name?”

A chuckle escaped the stranger’s lips. “So that’s a ‘yes,’ then. Good. I’ve traveled a long way to find you, Sigurd. You’re not an easy man to locate. Though, I must admit, I expected to find you in the dungeons, chained as a prisoner. Not standing among Wedenscire’s nobility. You’ve certainly climbed up in the world, haven’t you?”

“They don’t know who I really am,” he said. “But set that aside for now. Why were you looking for me?”

“Because your brother asked me too.”

Sigurd shot a bewildered glare at the other man, unable to stifle the flame that flared up inside him.

_Did he just say Eivor sent him?_ What sort of ruse was this? There was no way he could’ve been telling the truth. Eivor was dead -- Algar had made that quite clear. 

He instantly grabbed the stranger’s collar and pulled him close, leaning into his face. “ _What_ do you mean my brother sent you? Is this meant to be some sort of jest? Explain yourself!”

“Easy, _drengr_...” he soothed, holding onto Sigurd’s arm. “Your brother’s in East Anglia at the moment, under Oswald’s care. He arrived with your wife about a week ago, not too long after the ambush. They were both wounded and in need of help. Sadly, your wife succumbed to her injuries. Eivor, on the other hand, remains alive and well.”

The news hit Sigurd like a sword to the chest. He figured Randvi was dead along with everyone else, but that didn’t make her death any less painful. 

“And how do I know you’re telling the truth? What reason do you have to help us? Who _are_ you, anyway? You still haven’t told me your name.”

“My name is Gjuki,” the man replied. “Your brother freed me from slavery when he launched an assault on my master’s clan. This is the _least_ I can do for him after everything he’s done for _me.”_

Sigurd loosened his hold on Gjuki’s collar, shocked by what he just heard.

Could it be true? Could Eivor really still be alive? Had Algar been lying to him this entire time?

It _would_ explain why the housecarl had yet to give him a straight answer. Up until this point, the Saxon hadn’t been able to provide any details pertaining to Eivor’s death, and if Gjuki spoke the truth, it would answer many of the questions Sigurd had floating around in his head.

Algar _knew_ Eivor was alive. He _knew_ he failed to carry out Aegenwulf’s orders, and that was why he was so intent on keeping Sigurd under his boot. Just like anyone else who was familiar with the two brothers, Algar was aware of the feats they could achieve if they put their heads together, and he wanted to make sure they wouldn’t be able to fight back.

Still, in spite of the evidence Gjuki presented, Sigurd couldn’t deny that part of him remained in disbelief. He had spent so long wondering about the circumstances of Eivor’s death, that he never stopped to question whether or not it actually happened.

He truly believed he had been left all alone in this world, and -- given enough time -- he would’ve even accepted it. But now that he knew the truth of the situation, Sigurd felt a newfound strength igniting inside him.

“...My brother’s alive...” he whispered under his breath. “Eivor is... _alive._ There _is_ hope...”

Gjuki nodded. “Yes, but hope alone will not be enough to save you. If you truly wish to put an end to this ordeal, you must kill those responsible for the attack in the first place. Problem is, Eivor and I still don’t know who that is. That’s why he sent me to investigate.”

Sigurd’s face lit up with an idea. “I might have a lead. There is a Saxon here. His name is Algar. He is no more than a lapdog for the ealdorman, but I get the feeling he knows more about the attack on Ravensthorpe than he’s letting on. He knows something that Aegenwulf doesn’t.”

“Then it would be wise for you to remain here. It’s clear that you have the trust of the Saxons in Forangal -- to a certain extent, at least -- and you can use that to your advantage.”

The viking was hesitant. “I suppose you’re right, but not all the Saxons here are driven by deceit. Some of them have honor. I do not wish to betray their trust. They saved my life, after all.”

The bard didn’t share Sigurd’s confidence. “Yes, but for whose benefit? Do not let their false sense of camaraderie fool you, Sigurd. You have been here naught for a fortnight, and they have _already_ taken the liberty of putting a leash on you. You are nothing more than a tool to them. Trust me. I would know.”

Gjuki turned on his heel and began heading towards the main gate, anxious to reunite with the rest of his men.

“I will leave you for now, Sigurd. Our time is running out, and I do not wish to raise anymore suspicion. I will send one of my men back to Elmenham and inform Eivor of what we have found here. In the meantime, I shall remain in Wedenscire and continue with my investigation. If you ever need to contact me, head to the abandoned pier just south of Forangal. There is a brazier there that stands right next to the water. Light it, and I will come.”

Sigurd gave him a nod. “I will, Gjuki. Thank you. For everything you’re doing.”

“Do not thank me yet, Lone Wolf. If our plan is going to succeed, we will _both_ need to stay alive. So play along with these Saxons’ games for now. Let them _think_ they’re in control. Then, when the time is right... we will bring unto them the wrath of Thor himself.” The bard chuckled lowly. “They won’t even see it coming. Oh, what a sight that will be...”

Gjuki mounted his horse, waving goodbye to the bodyguard. 

“Until then, stay safe, Sigurd. Your brother is on the warpath to avenge your clan, and I shudder to think of what he’ll do if he loses you too. Do _not_ disappoint him.”


	8. There Will Be Blood

**ONE DAY LATER**

**ELMENHAM**

Eivor ran his fingers gently along the edge of his father’s axe, feeling its worn blade kiss the surface of his skin.

At the moment, he was sitting in the same place where he first met Gjuki and quietly admiring the view of the open sea in front of him, secretly wishing he could traverse beyond its horizon.

After everything that had occurred in England these past few days, Eivor wanted nothing more than to set sail and leave this godforsaken war zone behind him. He wanted to return to Fornburg and feel the familiar warmth of Styrbjorn’s longhouse, and the icy embrace of Norway’s fjords.

He wished to see the night sky veiled behind the aurora’s shimmering waves once again, and to get lost in the never ending stretches of mountains that crowned the frozen landscape.

But most importantly, Eivor wanted to find peace. His soul still wrestled inside him like a hurricane goading the ocean, and now that the deaths of his fellow clan members had finally sunken in, the inevitable pain that came along with them also buried itself deep inside his heart, causing his spirit to wither away like a flickering flame.

He almost felt numb at this point. There was hardly anything left in him after witnessing so much death, and without any family to help carry his burdens anymore, Eivor found himself desperately searching for a reason to hope, and a reason to fight.

There was just so much misery being thrust upon him suddenly, and he didn’t know if he could muster the strength to overcome it.

“Oh, Sigurd...” he whispered to himself, “...I wish you were here, brother. You and I may not have seen eye-to-eye on everything, but your courage and ambition always stoked a flame inside me that I didn’t even realize existed. Not until after you were gone. ”

Eivor gazed out at the ocean, still holding onto his father’s axe. “But I assure you... I won’t let our honor lie in the mud. Just like Kjotve, I _will_ find whoever did this to us and deliver them to Hel’s gates myself. Even if it kills me, I won’t let this attack go unpunished. That is a warrior’s promise.”

Standing up from the ground, Eivor slid the axe back into its sheathe and began heading towards the longhouse, only to freeze in curiosity when he saw a familiar face greeting him in the distance.

Not too far away from where he stood, Eivor spotted a man fervently riding towards him as the sun blotted out his figure, causing the viking to squint. He couldn’t quite see his face just yet, but purely based on the voice he heard calling out to him afterwards, he instantly realized who it was.

“...Broder?” Eivor murmured to himself.

The other man hurriedly hopped off his horse, jogging up to his friend.

“Eivor!” He called out, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Eivor met him in the middle, eyeing him with a look of confusion.

“Broder! You’ve finally returned... but you’re by yourself. Where is Gjuki? Why isn’t he with you? Has something happened to him?”

“No,” Broder replied, shaking his head. “Gjuki is fine. He’s just in Wedenscire at the moment, continuing our investigation.”

That took Eivor by surprise. “Wedenscire? What’s he doing so far south?”

“He’s investigating a castle called Forangal. It’s home to the shire’s ealdorman.” Broder paused for a second, unsure of how to broach the next subject. “...Gjuki’s found your brother, Eivor. He found Sigurd.”

The blond man’s expression sagged with sorrow. “...He did? And where is his body? Have you brought him with you? Or have the ravens already desecrated his corpse beyond redemption?”

“No, no, no.” Broder corrected. “He’s _alive,_ Eivor. He didn’t die at Ravensthorpe. He’s helping Gjuki as we speak.”

Eivor felt his heart stop at the revelation. _What did Broder just say?_

“...What?” He whispered in shock. “...S-Sigurd’s alive? You’re absolutely _certain_ it was him? Could it have been someone else?”

“There aren’t many Norsemen in England by the name of Styrbjornson, Eivor. I’m confident it was him.”

“Well, if he’s alive, why hasn’t he returned with you? Is there something that prevents him from coming home?”

“Perhaps I should just start from the beginning.”

Broder recomposed himself, finally managing to catch his breath after the lengthy journey.

“When you sent us to investigate Ravensthorpe for clues, we found a survivor there. A Saxon soldier. He was severely wounded, but not dead yet. Gjuki made him talk.”

Eivor shrugged. “And what did he say?”

“He told us that the people responsible for the attack were in Wedenscire, but wished to keep the ambush a secret. Apparently they didn’t plan on having anyone discover the true nature of their plan, and wanted to wipe out the entire clan. Men, women, children -- everyone. Unfortunately for them however, you and your brother both survived.”

“And what about their identity? Did this Saxon give you a name?”

Broder sighed. “I’m afraid he took that secret to his grave. Fear not, though. We found our _own_ lead. After Gjuki brought us to Wedenscire, we found ourselves in a town called Agenbury. A fisherman there by the name of Wilfred claimed to have seen your brother. He said that Sigurd washed up on the shore one night -- beaten and bloodied -- and that he rescued him from the brink of death.”

Eivor failed to hide the skepticism creeping onto his face. “A Saxon stranger going out of his way to help a Norse in need? I don’t believe it. Compassion like that never comes without a price. What did this Wilfred want from my brother?”

The other man had no answer. “Nothing, if he is to be trusted. He said he simply helped Sigurd because ‘that is what the Lord God would’ve wanted.’ Make of that what you will.”

Eivor crossed his arms. “I see. And what about Sigurd? Where is he now? Is he still in Agenbury?”

“No. The day after Wilfred rescued him, the ealdorman’s children stopped by the town and decided to take Sigurd back to the castle with them. What for, I do not know. All I know is that the eldest was apparently rather... apprehensive about the decision.”

“So Sigurd is at the castle now?”

Broder gave him a nod. “Yes. He resides in Forangal and serves Ealdorman Aegenwulf’s children as a personal bodyguard. The only reason Gjuki and I were able to find him was because of a thegn named Raedan who came to visit recently. We managed to find some disguises, and walk right through the gates alongside his personal guard. That is when Gjuki met your brother.”

“They’ve made Sigurd a bodyguard?” Eivor questioned. “I expected he would be a prisoner.”

The man chuckled. “You and me both. Make no mistake though, your brother is not a free man within those walls. According to what Gjuki tells me, the Saxons there treat him with spite, and would drag him around like a slave on a leash. There is a particular man named Algar who constantly hounds him on a daily basis, and torments him without remorse. Fortunately however, Sigurd is not as soft as he thinks.”

Eivor found himself in a state of anger, and let out a scoff. “So, it is not enough that these Saxons have destroyed our home? Now, they must also enslave my brother and treat him like a dog? By Thor, if anyof them have laid even a _finger_ on him...”

Broder reassured him. “Do not worry, _drengr._ Sigurd is doing well from what I gather. But his situation grows more dire with each passing day.”

“Then we would be fools to sit here and dawdle. I will not stand idly by whilst these people make a mockery of our clan and spit on our honor.” Eivor brought his gaze to the longhouse, eager to speak with Oswald.

“Return to Gjuki,” he told Broder. “Tell him to continue his search in Wedenscire. In the meantime, let him know that I am working to forge more alliances across England. Soon, we will have an army strong enough to shatter the very core of the earth itself. Whoever these Saxons are, they will _regret_ everything they have done.”

“Of course,” Broder complied, walking back to his horse. “I’ll bring Gjuki the news as soon as possible, Eivor.”

The viking gave him an appreciative glance, watching as the other man vanished in the distance. “Make sure you get some rest first, my friend. And food. You’ve had a long journey. You deserve a quick break before delving back into this storm.”

Broder smirked at that. “You’ll get no argument from me. Perhaps I’ll stay here for the night and regain my strength before returning to Wedenscire. But as soon as day breaks, I shall make my way back to Gjuki and bring him the news.”

“Thank you, Broder. For everything you’re doing. Take care of yourself in these trying times, and may the gods guide you.”

“You as well, Eivor.”

Bidding him farewell, Broder promptly climbed onto his mount and trotted away to the stables, leaving the other man to his thoughts as the day slowly came to an end.

By now, the sun had lowered itself into a canopy of peach-tinted clouds and soothed the land beneath with a gentle evening breeze. The activity in Elmenham was calm at the moment, and most of its occupants seemed to be spending their night in the longhouse.

Despite the serene nature of the town however, Eivor couldn’t help but feel a newfound fury growing inside him.

...Sigurd was _alive._

He was _actually_ alive.

Against all odds, his brother had escaped from the clutches of the half-rotten goddess, and survived an ordeal that massacred the rest of their clan.

They still had a chance to reclaim their honor. Even though Eivor had no doubts that the path ahead would be laden with obstacles, he remained confident that he and Sigurd would be able to plow through them as they always did.

Though, he couldn’t ignore the sense of fear that gripped his heart. He felt uncomfortable leaving Sigurd alone in a castle full of Saxons, and just based on the rumors he had heard about the people of Wedenscire before, Eivor assumed he would receive no love from the locals there.

He would have to work on forging more alliances, and quickly. Sigurd needed him now, and Eivor refused to simply leave him behind. Odin willing, he would soon be kicking down the gates of Forangal Castle itself, and bringing onto them the same hellfire that they delivered to Ravensthorpe.

He would not forget the slaughtering of his clan so easily, and neither would they.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**MEANWHILE**

**FORANGAL CASTLE, THE COURTYARD**

Swinging his blade to the side, Sigurd struck the wooden dummy in front of him with great force and caused it to wobble on its stand, sending a few splinters flying into the air.

He had grown bored of his idleness in Forangal during these past few days, and wished to take this time to revitalize his thirst for battle. Part of him feared that he was becoming too comfortable within the stone walls of the castle, and did not wish to allow himself to be addled by the absence of combat.

His skills had become somewhat dull due to the lack of any true danger, and the last thing he wanted was to let the callouses on his hands go soft.

Unfortunately however, his body seemed to disagree.

Landing another blow directly on the dummy’s head, Sigurd brought the sword downwards in a firm strike, only to stumble when he suddenly felt a sharp pang stinging him where the arrows had hit his torso.

The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as when Edric and his siblings first brought him to the castle, but it was still enough to hinder his movement.

“Shit...!” Sigurd muttered with a soft hiss.

Bringing a hand to his ribs, the viking took a moment to examine his old wound and gently pressed on the skin, causing a painful throb to spread throughout his chest. He knew it wasn’t healed completely just yet -- Linette said the tissue would take weeks to recover -- but he assumed it would’ve been faint enough that he could’ve ignored it by now. Clearly, he was wrong.

Sighing in discouragement, the Norseman decided to take a break for the time being and placed the sword down before having a seat on a nearby bench, taking in the cool air of the dying daylight.

He wanted to continue with his training whilst he still had the chance, but he knew that if he kept pushing his body any further, he’d soon tear open one of his wounds again. And the scolding he’d receive from Linette after _that_ was more fearsome than any foe he’d have to face.

Still, Sigurd couldn’t help but wonder how useful he _truly_ was as a bodyguard if he couldn’t even defeat a mere mannequin. He had three lives depending on him at the moment, and he could scarcely guard his _own._

Luckily for him though, the siblings seemed to have a healthy habit of avoiding trouble altogether. The twins didn’t appear to get involved with a lot of the political chaos occurring in Forangal, and Edric had enough levelheadedness of his own to know when something wasn’t worth the hassle.

In truth, the _main_ thing that worried Sigurd was Algar. So far, the man had yet to physically attack him, and he seemed to obey Aegenwulf’s wishes of diplomacy -- at least, for the most part -- but the Norseman could only wonder how long it’d be before something else sparked between them.

He clearly knew more about the war in Wedenscire than he was giving away, and part of Sigurd suspected that he may have been aware of Gjuki’s presence. It was unlikely that he knew the bard’s name or his identity just yet, but... it wasn’t impossible. Nothing was.

Letting out a deep breath, Sigurd leaned back in his seat and listened to the soft sounds of the nature in the courtyard, allowing himself to relax for a minute.

Currently, the only things he could hear were the scattered chirps of nearby crickets, and the delicate rustling of trees swaying in the wind. The castle was actually quite peaceful when there was no one around to disturb the silence, and contrary to what he expected, Sigurd found himself to be quite fond of it.

Sadly though, it was short-lived.

Bringing his moment of solitude to an end, Sigurd’s ears perked up in interest when he heard a distant chain of footsteps coming towards him, leading him to glance to his side.

There, just behind the trees, the viking spotted Edric strolling in his direction with a casual expression on his face and a small cake in his hand, seemingly unperturbed.

The young man looked tired from all his running around with Aegenwulf and Raedan, but if Sigurd was reading him correctly, he would’ve said that the lord was delighted to see him again.

“There you are, you big brute.” Edric said jokingly, approaching the man. “I was looking for you.”

Sigurd eyed the treat in his palm with a smirk, quirking his brow in curiosity. “Were you? And what’s that you have there?”

The Saxon rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, this? It’s a soul cake. Remember? I mentioned them before? Nelda made a fresh batch today for Raedan and his family. I... I thought I could bring you one.”

The Norse couldn’t help but chuckle at Edric’s awkwardness. He clearly wasn’t used to giving people treats like this, and in a strange way, it only made him more endearing to Sigurd.

“You aren’t trying to poison me are you?” He teased.

Edric took a seat next to him, laughing softly. “Don’t worry. You haven’t irritated me _that_ much.” He held the cake out, urging Sigurd to take it. “Go on. Give it a try.”

Sigurd picked up the cake, hesitantly taking a bite out of it. It was sweeter than he expected, and filled his mouth with a surprisingly lively combination of ginger and cinnamon.

“I like it.” He said. “It reminds me of some of the sweets that _our_ people have.”

Edric beamed at the man’s comment. “Does it? What kind of cakes do the Norse eat?”

“Well, we don’t have cakes like this,” Sigurd clarified, “but sometimes we will eat bread with honey. It’s a simple treat that we like to have after a huge feast. That, and some fruits.”

“Do your people bake a lot?”

Sigurd smiled in an amused manner. “I’m not sure about _all_ Danes, but my clan in particular had a man who loved to bake. His name was Tarben. He was a tall, burly Norseman who could’ve crushed your skull in a heartbeat if he wanted, but he had no interest in battle like the rest of us did. Instead, his passion lied with baking.”

“Sounds like your clan was full of all sorts of intriguing people.”

“It was.” Sigurd said nostalgically. “We had hunters, merchants, warriors, poets -- even a pet wolf. I think it’s safe to say there wasn’t another clan out there like us. We were one, large family of brothers and sisters merely trying to find a new home in England. But... well... it didn’t go as planned.”

Edric picked up on the sudden shift in Sigurd’s tone, hoping to comfort him.

“...Are you alright, Sigurd?” He asked.

The viking nodded. “I’m fine. I just... can’t stop thinking about my clan, you know? About the life we once had. It’s not a topic I enjoy lingering on for obvious reasons, but I often find myself drifting away into these thoughts regardless.”

“Aye,” Edric said in understanding. “Edlynne told me that you seemed preoccupied yesterday. Apparently, there was some... tension between you and Lady Moira?”

Sigurd scoffed. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. Lady Moira isn’t comfortable with the fact that I haven’t converted to Christianity yet.”

The Saxon let out a sigh. “I assumed so. You must forgive her. As imposing as she can be sometimes, it’s out of a desire to protect her children. From what I understand, they’ve already lost quite a few people to this war, so Moira’s response is only natural. Still, we shouldn’t excuse ignorance. It’ll only cause _more_ trouble.”

A sudden thought crossed Edric’s mind. “Hey, Sigurd. I’m curious. Have you... ever considered converting to Christianity?”

The Norse shook his head. “No, for I see no reason to.”

“And I respect that, but I must confess that I’m worried no one here will ever trust if you if you don’t. Danes are often dismissed as mad heretics and blood-thirsty heathens. If you wish to remain a pagan, I’d only advise caution. You never know how some people will react.”

Sigurd took his words to heart. “I understand your concern, Edric. But for the time being, I have no desire to abandon my gods.”

“Fair enough. I know it’s a big decision, and not one to be made lightly. Do with your faith what you will.”

The nobleman paused for a moment, deciding to drop the subject. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to divert our conversation so drastically. I fear that Raedan’s talks of politics have simply been hammered into my head. The truth is, I came here for _you.”_

That caught Sigurd’s attention. “For me? Why?”

“Well, when Edlynne told me about your exchange with Moira yesterday, I feared that you might have been in a foul mood. I mean, you’ve been thrown into the middle of this Saxon fortress without having any say in your fate, and I know you’ve lost some of your _own_ people to this war. It’s... a lot of pressure for someone to deal with, and I just wanted to make sure that you were doing alright.”

Sigurd smiled bashfully at the young man’s concern. “You are kind, Edric. I cannot deny that this past week has taken a toll on me, but you and your siblings give me the willpower I need to push through it. I’ll be fine.”

Edric chuckled gently. “You’re a strong man, Sigurd. And a good friend. It baffles me to think that I would’ve left you behind when we first met.”

The viking grinned playfully. “Do you still regret taking me in?”

“No. Not at all. In fact, I’m grateful for your presence. It’s nice to have someone new in this dreary castle, and... I must admit that... you’re rather charming.”

Sigurd took a second to process what he just heard. Even though he knew Edric was quite fond of him, he never expected the man to attempt taking his feelings further. 

He assumed that he would’ve been promised to some thegn’s daughter by now like most noblemen were, but clearly, he was mistaken. Still, as unexpected as the compliment was, it wasn’t unwelcome.

“You think I’m charming?” Sigurd asked.

Edric smirked. “In your own aggressive way, yes. Some people might find my tastes peculiar, but I can’t deny that you’ve certainly caught my eye since we first met. I think... maybe that’s why I was so reluctant to bring you here to begin with.”

“What do you mean?”

The Saxon gripped the cross hanging around his neck, holding the pendant out for Sigurd to see.

“You might know this already, but my religion doesn’t take too kindly to people like me. Ideally, they would see me married to a woman, but... that’s not what I want. That’s not what I’ve _ever_ wanted.”

Sigurd was somewhat surprised. “Truly? And does your family know about this?”

Edric’s face sank with shame. “No. I’ve considered telling them about it in the past, but... I wouldn’t know how to. There’s already so many things my father has to deal with. I have no clue how he’d react if he knew the truth.” 

He paused briefly, raising a sudden question. “Do you... do you feel the same way, Sigurd? Have _you_ ever had these thoughts about anyone? Or even about... me?”

The viking fell into a profound silence, unsure of how to answer Edric’s question. Even though the two of them had only known each other for about a week or so, Sigurd couldn’t deny that part of him shared the young man’s affection.

There was just something about Edric that drew him in like a moth to a flame, and he found himself unable to stay away.

His personality, his looks, his gentle eyes, the way he carried himself... it all clicked with Sigurd in a manner that he had never experienced with anyone else before.

There was an unfamiliar spark igniting between the two of them, and he wanted nothing more than to delve deeper into it.

Despite his longings however, Sigurd couldn’t ignore the sense of guilt that clung onto his thoughts. He couldn’t help but think about Eivor and his clan, and the war they were currently trapped in.

His brother _needed_ him right now. He _needed_ him to focus. Gjuki was the only thing keeping them in touch at the moment, and Sigurd couldn’t afford to waste his time gallivanting around with a potential lover.

Besides, it wasn’t his place to start a relationship with Edric. Even though the young man wished to treat him as an equal, Sigurd was fully aware of his _true_ position. He was no more than a servant to the Saxon in the end, and he did not wish to take advantage of the nobleman’s compassion.

“I... must admit that I find myself drawn to you, Edric.” Sigurd said, his voice quiet with hesitance. “But... I’m afraid I can’t indulge in these thoughts. It wouldn’t be right.”

Edric tilted his head in confusion. “Why not? Is something the matter?”

“Your father is the _ealdorman,_ ” Sigurd explained. “He’s put a tremendous amount of faith in me to keep you safe, and I do not wish to abuse his trust. No matter how much I may like you, Edric, it wouldn’t be right for me to do this.”

The young man turned away from Sigurd, evidently somewhat hurt by the rejection. 

“I... I see.”

“I’m sorry,” the viking said. “I wish things were that easy, but...”

Edric shook his head. “Say no more. I understand. You have your own responsibilities to worry about, and so do I. I... shouldn’t have let my emotions get the better of me. I apologize.”

Standing up from the bench, the Saxon stretched his arms and took a deep breath, finally ready to return to his duties. The sky had darkened into a deep shade of violet by now, and the scattered lights of multiple torches could be seen glowing around the castle.

“...I should get back to work,” Edric said, his tone much softer now. “I promised Hal and Sibley that I’d join them for dinner tonight, and I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Sigurd glanced up at him. “Do you want me to come with you?”

The other man hesitated. “Well yes, but I’m not sure if Lady Moira would appreciate that. I know she becomes rather antsy around Danes. There’s also the fact that Algar will be there too. I suppose I’ll just leave the decision to you. It’d be lovely if you could join us, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Sigurd nodded. “Very well. Sounds good to me.”

“Great. Then meet me in the dining hall if you wish to come. If not, I’ll see you in the morn.”

Edric took his leave from the courtyard, waving goodbye to the man. “Goodnight, Sigurd. Take care of yourself.”

Remaining seated on the bench as the nobleman made a swift exit, Sigurd watched his friend disappear into the evening’s darkness as the shadows settled into the castle’s walls, shrouding everything in black.

By now, all the warmth from the sun’s beams had been erased from the wind, and tiny specks of light could be seen flickering in the air as fireflies began to float around.

It was a quiet night, considering all the new soldiers that were now running around the castle. In spite of Raedan’s bustling arrival and Aegenwulf’s ambitious plans for war, Sigurd found himself to be mostly unperturbed. 

He had made quite a few friends in Forangal -- as well as some new enemies -- and even though not everyone was willing to accept his newly-given position, it seemed that most of them were able to obey the ealdorman’s wishes, at the very least. For now, anyway.

Still, Sigurd couldn’t help but wonder if he was a fool for pushing Edric away. Regardless of all the risks that came along with such a relationship, the viking knew damn well what his heart truly desired. There was no doubt in his mind that he would’ve thrived from a connection with the young nobleman, and yet... he couldn’t bring himself do it. 

There were just too many unknowns obscuring the path ahead of him, and Sigurd feared that a new romance would’ve twisted the winding road even further.

“Well, well...” someone said, “the young lord certainly seems to be fond of you, doesn’t he?”

Whipping around to see who was speaking, Sigurd sprang up from his seat and jolted his head in the direction of the voice, only to find one of Raedan’s guards standing not too far away from him.

“Wait a minute...” the viking murmured, recognizing the person’s speech, “ _Gjuki?_ Is that you?”

The bard lifted his visor, grinning at him. “Hello, Lone Wolf.”

Sigurd flicked his eyes around, checking to make sure no one had seen the man. “What in Hel’s name are you doing here? I thought you told me to meet you at the pier if we ever needed to speak.”

Gjuki approached him. “No, I told you to light the brazier if _you_ ever needed _me._ In the meantime, I’ll simply carry on with my investigation as I see fit. No reason to waste this uniform, after all. But to answer your question...” he took his helm off for the moment, breathing in the fresh air, “I’m here to keep an eye on you, of course. Hope you don’t mind.”

Sigurd crossed his arms. “I do, actually. I’m not fond of airing my private affairs for everyone to see.”

The other man chuckled. “Ah, yes. You and the nobleman. Quite a hopeless romantic, that one. What’s the lad’s name, again? Erik?”

“Edric.”

“That’s right,” Gjuki said, nodding in remembrance. “Forgive me, words can become quite muffled when you’re wearing a bucket on your head.”

The viking sighed in annoyance. “Look, what do you want, Gjuki? Are you going to follow me everywhere I go? I’m quite capable of handling my own problems.”

“Hmm, you might change your mind once you hear what I have to say.” Gjuki placed a hand on Sigurd’s shoulder, leaning closer to his ear. “Listen to me, Sigurd. I looked into that Saxon you told me about yesterday. The ugly one.”

“You mean Algar?”

“Yes. Him. Whilst he and the ealdorman were discussing politics in the war room, I took the liberty of tracking down his chambers. I didn’t find much in there -- just random books and spare clothing -- but one note in particular caught my eye.”

That piqued Sigurd’s interest. “Oh? And what did this note say?”

Gjuki laughed. “I wish I knew. Most of it was pure nonsense; nothing but the ravings of a madman. However, it _did_ mention a hidden crypt somewhere. A crypt that requires a special key to open. A key... that Algar keeps on him at all times.”

Sigurd didn’t like where this was going. “So, you need me to steal the key? Is that it?”

“No, no, no. _I_ will steal it. _Your_ job will be to distract him.”

“Distract him? How? And when?”

Gjuki shrugged. “Well, your friend mentioned Algar would be at a dinner tonight with Raedan’s family, did he not? Perhaps that’s our chance.”

Sigurd threw him a look of bewilderment. “You want to attempt theft in front of two noble families, their guards, and a housecarl? If you get caught, we’re both dead.”

“Have faith, _drengr._ It’s not as difficult as you think, but I _will_ need help. Just keep Algar’s attention away from me, and everything will be fine. Trust me on this.”

The viking let out a breath. “Fine. We’ll do this your way. Just... _be careful.”_

Gjuki slid his helm back on, giving him an assuring nod. “The same goes for you, my friend.”

He turned on his heel, making his way out of the courtyard. 

“Anyways, you should probably get ready. I imagine the dinner will start soon. Algar is more astute than you’d think, and I’d rather be done with this business as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting for you in the dining hall.”

“And if you get the key? What then? Where do you want me to meet you afterwards?”

Gjuki eased the man’s concerns. “No need to worry yourself about that. _When_ I get the key, I’ll locate this crypt on my own. I’ll find out what Algar’s hiding there, and bring you my discoveries as soon as I’m finished. You just focus on keeping him distracted. Let me handle the rest.”

Sigurd sighed in defeat, deciding to trust the bard for now. “If you insist.”

“Have faith, Lone Wolf. Soon, this storm will be over. We _will_ learn the truth behind the attack on Ravensthorpe, and Eivor will bring upon these people a vengeance so fierce that they won’t dare to set foot on your lands ever again. There _will_ be blood... and it _will_ be glorious. That, I promise you.”


	9. Words of a Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real quick, I just wanna say thanks for all the kind messages/comments you guys have been sending me on tumblr and AO3. I really enjoy writing this fic, and it makes it all the better when I know you’re enjoying it too. So thanks again for the support. Means the world to me <3

**FORANGAL CASTLE**

**THE DINING HALL**

“I’m afraid there’s no shortage of Danes in Wedenscire, Aegenwulf.” Raedan said as the two conversed across the table. “Over these past few weeks, I’ve been seeing more and more of them crawling all over the place. It’s almost as if they’re migrating like a bloody flock of birds. It makes you wonder whether these Danes are local, or if they come from somewhere else.”

Aegenwulf took a sip from his goblet. _“No_ Dane is local to England, my friend. They are _all_ invaders; all outsiders.”

Bishop Hundwerth raised his cup in agreement. “Very true, my lord.”

Raedan furrowed his brow. “Well, unfortunately, regardless of wherever they may hail from, it seems that the Northmen have planted their roots rather deeply in our lands. I doubt they’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

“Any ideas on how to get them out?”

The thegn shrugged. “You know the vikings as well as I do. Those bastards are as fierce in political dialogue as they are in war. It won’t be easy to drive them out of this kingdom. The only language they understand is battle.”

“Then we would do well to keep our tongues as sharp as our blades.”

Lady Moira joined in. “Please, Raedan. Save the discussions of politics for the war room, and let us enjoy this meal that Aegenwulf’s people have been kind enough to prepare for us. We’ve all had a long journey, and I think we’d like a moment to rest.”

Her husband stepped down from his conversation, letting out a sigh. “Ah... forgive me, my love. My head is filled to the brim with warfare nowadays. I fear I have forgotten how to engage in casual chatter. But you’re right. We’ll have plenty of time to worry about all that later. For now, let us feast on this fine food that they’ve lain out for us before I become some bare-chinned ponce.”

The ealdorman chuckled. “Still the same Raedan, even after all these years.” He raised his goblet. “To your health, old friend.”

Raedan smiled warmly at that. “Thank you.” 

Clinking their cups together, the two Saxons engaged in a friendly toast and downed the rest of their drinks, merrily enjoying each other’s company.

Meanwhile, Edric and the twins sat at the other end of the table and talked with Moira and her children, sticking to their own conversation as the food slowly vanished from their plates. 

The gathering wasn’t quite as riveting as Edric would’ve liked, and Algar’s presence at the table admittedly worried him somewhat, but it was still more enjoyable than being stuck in the war room all day. He had grown tired of the constant debates and discussions of death, so it was a pleasant change of pace to take a break from all that.

He only wondered if Sigurd would decide to join them.

“So tell me,” Moira said, delicately cutting into a piece of meat, “how have things been in Forangal? Everything is going well, I hope?”

“As well as they can be, I suppose.” Edric replied. “Our people are strained due to the war, but we’re doing our best to push through it.”

“That’s good. And how have _you_ been faring, Edric? I’ve spoken to your siblings quite a bit already, but you and I haven’t had the chance to catch up. Are things well for you? I imagine you’ve acquired an abundance of new responsibilities now that you’re older.”

The young man chuckled. “An understatement. These days, I spend most of my time joining my father’s side at the war table. If things keep going on like this, I may even join him on the battlefield soon.”

Edlynne cocked her head at him. “I certainly hope not. I’d feel much better knowing you were safe within Forangal’s walls.”

Henry gave a timid nod of agreement. “As would I. You’re dear to us all, Edric. I’d hate to see you thrown into the midst of all the chaos out there.”

A sour look spread across Moira’s face. “Well, it definitely doesn’t help when you have a Norseman wandering around the castle. Are you certain it’s wise to keep... oh, what’s his name -- Sigurd here? You’re sure you can trust him?”

Edric had a feeling this would come up sooner or later. “I know you didn’t get the best first impression of him, Lady Moira, but I assure you he means no harm. He _is_ a good man.”

“I just think it’d be best if you found a man of Christ to protect you,” she countered, “rather than someone from such a questionablebackground. I mean, where did you even findhim?”

Edlynne jumped in. _“We_ didn’t find Sigurd. It was a fisherman in Agenbury who saved his life.”

“Saved his life?”

“Aye,” Edric said. “He was wounded when he washed up on the shore; barely breathing, in fact. A man named Wilfred rescued him, but his treatment wasn’t enough to keep Sigurd alive. So, we brought him back to the castle in order to let Linette take care of him. He’s been eager to repay us for our help ever since.”

Moira’s expression flattened with skepticism. “Hmm. Well, as long as he’s doing his job. Still, I’d advise you to be cautious. The vikings aren’t known for having a protective nature, after all.”

Edric decided to stifle his frustration for the moment. “...Of course, my lady. I--” he paused for a second, perking his head up in interest, “--well, speak of the Devil. Here he is.”

Turning around to face the door, everyone in the dining room brought their attention to the entrance upon hearing Edric’s remark, only to find Sigurd himself strolling through the archway. 

He wasn’t wearing any armor like he normally did on a day-to-day basis, and it appeared as if he actually made an effort to clean up. There didn’t seem to be a speck of dirt dotting his face, and a fine tunic had replaced the shell of metal that usually covered his body.

Edric beamed brightly at Sigurd, welcoming him with a smile.

“Sigurd! You decided to come.”

The viking took a hesitant step into the room, clearly feeling a bit uncomfortable. “I did.”

Edric gestured to the spot next to him. “Well, have a seat then. I’ll pour you a drink.”

Walking past the guards as he ventured further into the hall, Sigurd’s eyes briefly flicked to the opposite side when he noticed Gjuki slipping in through another pair of doors, sticking to the shadows. The room had gone completely quiet ever since their arrival, but it didn’t look like anyone had caught on to what they were doing just yet.

Odin willing, it would stay that way.

Sitting down beside Edric at the table, Sigurd quietly observed the people around him and shifted awkwardly in his seat, admittedly feeling incredibly out of place. Even though he was more familiar with Forangal’s occupants nowadays, he couldn’t deny that Raedan’s family put him on edge -- even _with_ Edric at his side.

They were nothing more than a set of new faces to Sigurd, after all. Raedan’s name meant nothing to him in this war, and it was obvious that his wife wasn’t too fond of him either. 

He supposed he would just have to get used to it.

“You’re very tall.” Sibley suddenly said, breaking the silence.

Edric poured some wine into Sigurd’s cup, chuckling at the comment. “He is, isn’t he? A proper giant, this man. Still, you look nice this evening, Sigurd. You clean up better than I would’ve expected.”

The compliment allowed him to relax a bit. “You think? I guess there _is_ hope for me, after all.”

“So it would seem.”

Moira’s beady gaze instantly locked onto the viking. “...Ah. Sigurd. You and I met briefly at the main gate yesterday. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here after our... introduction. What brings you here tonight?”

“Edric invited me.”

“Did he?”

The young man spoke up. “Yes. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

The woman’s lips pursed in annoyance, and she threw a side glance at Sigurd. “No, of course not. So long as he minds his manners.”

The viking returned the comment with a glare. “The same could be said for _you,_ my lady.”

Edric froze at the retort, already regretting this situation he had created.

“Sigurd...!” He whispered in a cautionary tone.

The other man let out a quiet sigh, deciding to hold himself back for the moment.

“...Forgive me,” Sigurd apologized, his voice stiff with reluctance, “I fear I can be rather... hasty with my words sometimes.”

Moira’s stare only seemed to sharpen in response to the apology, but she decided to drop the conversation nonetheless. Despite her husband’s silence, she could see that Raedan was unhappy with her animosity towards Sigurd, and she did not wish to cause a scene in front of her children. 

_Algar_ , on the other hand, couldn’t have been more amused by the display.

“Have no fear, Lady Moira,” the housecarl joked. “Sigurd may _look_ intimidating, but in truth, he’s about as harmful as a newborn pup. You and your family will be just fine.”

Initially, Sigurd planned to ignore the taunt and simply carry on with his meal, but once he noticed Gjuki approaching Algar from the shadows, he knew he had to keep the man’s attention away from him, lest they both be killed.

“Is your life so devoid of purpose that you must resort to taunting me all day, Algar?” He asked, distracting him. “Or is this simply a new hobby of yours?”

Algar chuckled. “Struck a nerve, did I? I apologize. It’s unbecoming of me to attack a man who’s already down. After all, I know you can scarcely lift a sword these days.”

“Neither can you, it seems. It appears that your foes have a habit of... getting back up.”

Edric finally snapped.

“ _Enough,_ both of you.” He said firmly, setting his cup down on the table. “Is it so hard to look past your differences for one night? I invited Sigurd here because I trust him as a friend. He is here at my behest, and I would not see him disrespected. Now, please...” Edric let out a breath, “...no more bickering. We’ve got plenty of that _outside_ of these walls already.”

Backing down from their heated altercation, both Sigurd and Algar decided to put the matter to rest for now and quietly returned to their meals, still eyeing each other from across the table.

Meanwhile, Gjuki gently snuck a hand into the pouch hanging from the housecarl’s belt and quickly patted around it, only to take out a peculiar-looking object once he found what he was searching for.

It didn’t resemble any key Sigurd had ever seen in _his_ life, and the shape was undeniably rather odd, but the bard seemed to recognize it, so he assumed it must’ve been the same one mentioned in that mysterious note.

Gjuki gave the viking a subtle nod and began heading out the door, beckoning Sigurd to follow him once he had the chance.

“Sigurd?” Edric said privately, tearing the man’s gaze away from his hidden friend.

“I-- yes?” He replied, his tone now coated with a hint of urgency. “What is it?”

The nobleman examined him for a moment. “...Are you alright? You seem... distracted.”

Sigurd brought himself back to the current gathering and pushed his thoughts to the side, attempting to conceal his eagerness to see what Gjuki had discovered.

“I’m fine, Edric. Just... tired from the day is all.”

The Saxon didn’t seem to notice Gjuki. “Well, I don’t blame you. I know things have been tough for you lately. But put all that aside for now. Tonight, we feast. Let us cast aside our worries, and simply enjoy the evening.” He raised his goblet in the air. “To our loved ones, and the hope that we may see them again someday.”

Sigurd smiled at Edric, picking up his drink. “ _Skål._ ”

Tapping their cups together, the two of them emptied their goblets in a lively toast and carried on with the night, doing their best to stay in high spirits despite Algar’s presence. Even though Sigurd was mainly there to act as a distraction for the housecarl, he couldn’t deny that he genuinely found joy being in Edric’s company.

The man was just... everything he wanted. He made Sigurd feel like he mattered. He made him feel safe.

There were many things the viking found himself worrying about nowadays, but with Edric there to help guide him through it, Sigurd honestly wished he could’ve stayed in Forangal a little longer. And that frightened him.

These people were supposed to be his _enemies;_ his _targets._ They were the ones responsible for the destruction of his clan, and yet... Sigurd couldn’t bring himself to hate them.

Of course, he wouldn’t object to seeing Algar’s head on a pike -- and he had his own grudges to hold when it came to Aegenwulf -- but everyone else in the castle struck him as no more than regular civilians. They were just other human beings trying to survive in this godforsaken war, and a part of Sigurd’s conscience shriveled up in remorse at the idea of harming them.

They didn’t deserve death, nor did they deserve Eivor’s wrath. But Sigurd knew that without the chance to witness their compassion face-to-face, his brother would be less inclined to show them mercy.

He would have to find some way to bring them to an understanding. He had no doubts that Eivor’s wounds remained fresh after everything that transpired in Ravensthorpe, and the last thing Sigurd wanted was to be caught in the middle.

There was good and bad on both sides of this battle, and he prayed he’d be able to make Gjuki see that. That man was the one thing keeping the brothers in touch, and in the end, Eivor’s impression of Forangal depended on him.

He was the only reason Eivor had any idea of what was happening in Wedenscire, and Sigurd could only hope that his messages weren’t being twisted with malice. 

Otherwise, he dreaded to imagine what awaited them in the future.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**ONE HOUR LATER**

**SIGURD’S CHAMBERS**

Stepping gently through the lengthy corridors, Sigurd followed the amber glow of the flicking torches as their flames danced softly against the walls, dimly lighting the floor so that he could see where he was going.

It had been a few minutes ever since the feast ended, and Gjuki all but vanished from the dining hall after stealing the key, but upon taking his leave, Sigurd found a note telling him to return to his chambers.

He didn’t know if something was wrong, or if the invitation was a trap, but regardless of what awaited him in the near future, Sigurd knew he’d have to face it eventually.

Everything he and Gjuki had worked for thus far was riding on this plan, and if something had gone awry, he wished to figure out what it was sooner than later. There was no telling what would happen if Algar learned of their schemes after all, and the last thing Sigurd wanted was to be caught with his hands tied.

“...Gjuki?” Sigurd said quietly as he walked into his quarters, opening the door as subtly as possible. 

There weren’t any guards patrolling in the vicinity at the moment, and most of Forangal’s people seemed to be asleep by now, but the viking still wanted to be cautious. Algar could’ve been lurking around somewhere in the shadows for all he knew, and he didn’t fancy the idea of bumping into him again.

“Ah, there you are, Lone Wolf,” the bard replied from Sigurd’s bed, free from the confines of his helm. “I thought those Saxons would never let you go.”

The other man shut the door behind closed him, keeping his voice low lest it seep out into the corridor.

“You found the key, yes? Did anyone notice you on the way out?”

Gjuki smirked, holding the key in the air for Sigurd to see. “Not a single soul. It’s as if I was never there. Honestly, the most difficult part of the theft was having to endure Lady Moira’s bleating. How anyone deals with that woman is beyond me.”

Sigurd sighed. “Well, I’d rather take her over Algar any day. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is you were able to find the key. Do you know where to use it?”

The bard stood up from the bed. “I have yet to find an exact location, but there is enough in Algar’s note that I should be able to track it down. Apparently, this crypt of his is somewhere near Forangal, but hidden well enough that most people simply stroll right past it. It’s difficult to find even when you know what to look for.”

The viking stepped next to Gjuki, observing the key in his hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Gjuki thought for a moment. “Hmm. Not much, I’m afraid. All I would ask is that you proceed with your life as compliantly as possible. Do what the Saxons say. Follow their commands. Keep your head down. I know it’s... an unfavorable approach, but if I’m going to rummage through Algar’s belongings and find out what he’s hiding, I’ll need you to make sure that his suspicion stays low.”

Sigurd nodded, admittedly somewhat annoyed at the thought of having to take Moira’s insults without fighting back. “...If that’s what you need, then I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Sigurd. I promise, I’ll return to you as soon as I discover something. Just keep an eye on that pier I mentioned. When I’m ready to meet you again, I’ll light the brazier. I think it’s best if we go over Algar’s secrets in private.”

“Understood.”

Gjuki slipped the key back into his pocket, striding towards the door. “Good. Then I best be off. In the meantime, I’ll also prepare for Broder’s return.”

The viking raised a brow. “Broder? Who’s that?” 

“Oh, I never told you his name, did I? Forgive me. He’s a Dane aiding me in this investigation. He too comes from East Anglia. I sent him back to report to Eivor on the day I first met you, but I imagine he’ll be making his way back now. I’ll tell him of what you and I have accomplished here.”

A thought suddenly crossed Sigurd’s mind, causing him to stop Gjuki in his tracks.

“Wait, Gjuki. Before you leave...”

The bard glanced over his shoulder. “Hm? What is it, Lone Wolf?”

“Earlier, back in the courtyard, you told me Eivor was planning to attack Forangal Castle. That he wanted revenge.”

Gjuki nodded. “Yes, but it’s going to take some time. He’ll need more allies before he can muster the strength necessary to assault this fortress.”

A concerned look spread across Sigurd’s face. “Well, when you get the chance, let him know that there _are_ good people here. Tell him that not all of them deserve to be killed, and that not everyonehere is our enemy.”

The other man chuckled and crossed his arms. “...You truly believe that, don’t you?”

Sigurd shrugged, confused about Gjuki’s reaction. “And why shouldn’t I? Is there something you know that I don’t?”

The bard lowered his voice to a whisper, speaking in a manner similar to that of a snake.

“I see the way these Saxons look at you when your back is turned to them. I see the way they mock our gods, and twist your mind. They would lock you in a cage next to their _dogs_ if they could, and yet, they chain you with an illusion of friendship because that’s the only thing that’ll keep you from retaliating.”

The viking shook his head. “You have the wrong idea, Gjuki. Even though there aresomepeople here who would see me dead, there _are_ also those who would defend me. Like Edric and his siblings.”

The bard laughed. “You don’t even realize that you’re being indoctrinated, do you? I know you care for Edric, but he is _not_ your friend, Sigurd. I heard your conversation with him in the courtyard. You haven’t even been here for a month and he’s already asking you to convert to Christianity. Don’t you see what he’s trying to do? He’s trying to turn you into a thrall.”

Sigurd placed his hands on his hips, growing somewhat concerned about Gjuki’s paranoia. “No, he isn’t. Edric asked me to consider Christianity, yes, but he’s not forcing me into it.”

The other man wasn’t convinced. “...Not _yet._ ”

Gjuki looked Sigurd directly in the eye, practically piercing through his gaze.

“Listen to me carefully, Lone Wolf. Even though I know my words will carry little meaning in a time like this, I still think you need to hear them. Before I met your brother, I was a slave to a Dane called Rued who used to reside in East Anglia. He was an _argr_ rat, and spoke with a forked tongue. He did the same thing that these Saxons are doing to you. He displayed enough brutality so that we would stay in our place, but offered us the occasional ‘reward’ to keep us obedient. He was our friend from time to time, but mainly our oppressor.”

“This...” Gjuki continued, gesturing to the room around them, “...is your reward. And that...” he pointed to Sigurd’s suit of armor, “...is your leash. So take my advice. Break free from the binds that they have put on your _hugr,_ and be ready to strike when the time comes. These Saxons are nothing more than vipers, and you’d do best to remember that. Trust me, I would know.”

Putting their conversation to an end, Gjuki decided he had said enough and began making his way out the door, leaving Sigurd with one last piece of advice.

“I know none of this is your fault, Sigurd, but do not forget where you come from, nor what started all this. You are only here because the gods were kind enough to spare you, not because these Saxons wanted you to live. So the next time Edric offers you his friendship, remember, his father would’ve killed you in a heartbeat if everything went according to plan. A hatred like that doesn’t disappear just because you raise a sword in his name.”

Gjuki pulled the door open, suddenly trapped in an uncommonly dour mood.

“Farewell for now, Sigurd. I pray that the gods will be merciful in the days to come, and I hope that you and Eivor will be able to reunite soon. It isn’t too late to recover from this mess yet, but time waits for no one. And it certainly won’t wait for you.”


	10. Follow the Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait for this chapter guys. If you follow me on tumblr, you might've already heard this, but basically, I was dealing with some dips in my mental health and had to take a few days off just to deal with my depression. I know I've been sucking ass in terms of getting these parts out at a frequent rate, but I really appreciate you all sticking with me through it. Thanks for being patient, and I hope you enjoy this part <3

**ONE WEEK LATER**

**ELMENHAM, THE LONGHOUSE**

Oswald threw an incredulous stare at Eivor upon hearing the news, unable to deny the doubt that was settling into his mind.

“The ealdorman of _Wedenscire_ did this?” He asked. “Are you _certain?_ ”

Eivor shrugged, fidgeting with his axe as he relaxed in a chair.

“That’s what Gjuki tells me. There is still much information to be uncovered when it comes to the nature of this ambush, but based on what he has brought to me so far, I think it’s safe to assume that Aegenwulf was involved with the attack at the very _least.”_

The king placed his hands on his hips and began to pace around the room. “I just... I find it difficult to believe that he would act so brazenly -- especially in the middle of a _war_ , no less. Aegenwulf has never been fond of the Danes, that is true, but he is a man of honor; a man of God. If he _truly_ is behind the attack on Ravensthorpe, why would he do such a thing? What reason could he have to treat your people in such a way?”

Eivor sighed, tracing the edge of his blade. “I do not yet know, but his crimes go beyond what happened at Ravensthorpe. He also has my brother.”

That caught Oswald’s attention. “Aegenwulf has Sigurd? Is he holding him prisoner?”

“Not officially, but he may as well be. I have only heard fragments of the entire situation in Forangal, but Gjuki tells me Sigurd is slowly being brainwashed. He bears their sigil, and raises a blade in the ealdorman’s name. He obeys Aegenwulf’s every word, and apparently, has expressed some hesitation in terms of going along with my plans to assault the fortress. There are even whispers that he might convert to Christianity soon. They are turning him into a thrall.”

The Saxon king shook his head in sympathy, gazing blankly at the floor. “I’m... so sorry, Eivor. You’ve made it quite clear how much Sigurd means to you. I can’t imagine what it’s like watching a loved one lose sense of who they are. I wish I could make all this go away with a snap of my fingers, but we’ll need more men if we are to breach the walls of Forangal Castle.”

Eivor rose from his seat, sliding his axe back into its sheathe. “Have no fear, Oswald. We will have the forces we need soon enough. I have just finished securing an alliance in Eurvicscire. A couple more, and we should be ready to get Sigurd back.”

“Good. In the meantime, I will do all I can to prepare. A fragile peace hangs over East Anglia, but if there’s any chance we can save your brother, I’ll be there when you call for me. So will Valdis.”

“Thank you, Oswald.” Eivor said sincerely. “I know I’m asking a lot, but if we don’t rescue Sigurd from Forangal, he could end up dead. Or worse.”

“I understand. This is not something we can simply let go. If Aegenwulf really _is_ at the heart of all this, we _must_ bring him to justice. He has the blood of many innocents on his hands, and that cannot go unpunished.”

Oswald strolled back to his throne, finally having a seat after a long day of work.

“Carry on with your plans, Eivor. I will inform Valdis of what is to come. In the meantime, do your best to keep your head high. I know these are trying times, but Sigurd is going to need your strength if his situation is truly as bad as Gjuki reports.”

Eivor gave him a nod, making his way out of the longhouse. “I know, Oswald. And I will. I’m _not_ giving up on him yet.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**THAT NIGHT**

**FORANGAL CASTLE, SIGURD’S CHAMBERS**

Dragging a small stone along the edge of his sword, Sigurd sharpened the blade underneath the pale moonlight as he sat by the window, continuously checking to see if Gjuki had lit the brazier yet.

It had been about a week or so ever since he began searching for Algar’s hidden crypt, and with no further updates to inform Sigurd of what was going on, the man couldn’t deny that he was starting to grow anxious.

_What if something had happened to Gjuki? What if he had been caught? What if all this was for nothing? What would he do?_

The last thing Sigurd wanted was to think about the possible outcomes that could arise if their plan was foiled, but the thoughts continued to creep into his mind regardless. There were so many risks at hand and so many lives to consider, that he was beginning to wonder if all their effort was doomed to end in futility.

After all, they were heavily outnumbered in this part of England. Aside from Gjuki and his men, Sigurd really had no one else to rely on in Wedenscire. Of course, he had the support of Aegenwulf’s children to back him up, but in the face of true monarchy, he doubted that their approval of him would mean much to the ealdorman in the end.

Still, he supposed there was no use in worrying until he had a solid reason to believe something was amiss. Gjuki had already proven himself to be a skilled warrior in the past, and with Eivor waiting just beyond the horizon to bring Aegenwulf to justice, Sigurd remained confident in the fact that they would reunite someday.

Though, of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t frightened.

“...Sigurd?” A man suddenly said from behind the door, their gruff voice muffled by its material. “Are you in there?”

The viking placed his sword down and walked over to the entrance, straightening his tunic along the way.

“One moment.”

Swinging the door open with a firm pull, Sigurd paused in surprise when he saw an unexpected face greeting him from the other side, admittedly confused about their presence here.

“Thegn Raedan?” He said. “Is there something you need?”

The nobleman took a moment to observe the Norse in front of him, flicking his eyes up and down.

“So...” Raedan replied quietly, not wanting to wake Forangal’s people, “ _you’re_ Sigurd the Lone-Wolf. I apologize for the abrupt visit -- especially at such a late hour -- but I wanted to speak with you face-to-face. After all, I don’t think you and I have had the chance to sit down and have a proper conversation yet, have we?”

“No, we haven’t.”

The Saxon quirked a brow at him. “...May I come in?”

Sigurd stepped to the side, allowing him entry. “Of course, my lord.”

Walking into the dimly-lit chamber, Raedan strolled towards the window and leaned against the wall beside it, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword as Sigurd closed the door behind him.

“So,” the viking said, “what did you wish to speak about?”

Raedan was quiet for a second. “...Well, a few things. But mainly, my wife. Moira. You’ve met her a handful of times by now, haven’t you? I know she’s been giving you some trouble since we first arrived, and I’m sorry about that. She _is_ a good woman, but she’s also very protective. And I fear that the history between our people and yours has been anything but peaceful.”

The viking crossed his arms. “I assume her distrust towards me isn’t without reason.”

The Saxon nodded. “And you’d be correct. I’ll spare you the details, but... just know that she lost her own mother to the vikings. Many years ago. It’s the main reason her father arranged a marriage between the two of us. He wanted to secure an alliance with my family in order to drive the Danes out of their lands. It worked in the end... but at a great cost.”

Sigurd’s tone softened with empathy. “...I’m sorry to hear that. I know how it feels.”

“I imagine we _all_ do, nowadays. Unfortunately. It’s rare to find someone who has evaded the tragedy of this war, and even _rarer_ to find someone who hasn’t been changed by it. But I digress...”

Raedan approached Sigurd, lowering his voice so that it was barely above a whisper.

“May I ask you something, Lone Wolf?”

The Norseman nodded. “Certainly.”

“...From what I understand, you’re quite close to Aegenwulf, aren’t you?”

Sigurd shook his head. “Not particularly, no. In fact, I hardly know anything about him.”

“Is that so? Well, I must admit, that’s somewhat of a surprise. I simply assumed you were friends since he’s allowed you to stay here. Most Danes that cross paths with Aegenwulf end up with a severed head.”

“It was mostly his children who influenced his decision to spare me,” Sigurd explained. “Initially, Aegenwulf _was_ going to have me executed.”

Raedan chuckled softly. “Ah, yes. _That’s_ more what I expected. Still, it doesn’t sound like the Aegenwulf I knew all those years ago. He’s always been a stern bastard, mind you, but... I feel as if he’s changed lately. And not for the better.”

Sigurd recalled what Edric told him. “Well, he _did_ lose one of his sons.”

“Aye. Gareth. I heard about that. Such a horrible death, and one that I fear has left Aegenwulf in a perpetual state of despair. He always puts on a smile when he’s around me, but I can’t help but feel as if it’s no more than a facade.”

The viking picked up on his tone. “You’re worried about him?”

“I am. That’s why I came to you. I hate to talk about a man behind his back, but I thought you might know something that could help. Seems he’s keeping secrets from everyone these days, though.”

Sigurd couldn’t hide the sharpness in his voice. “Not _everyone.”_

“Oh? You have someone in mind?”

The Norseman sighed out of hesitance, somewhat reluctant to answer the question. Part of him trusted Raedan to handle information like this with an objective mind -- he seemed quite rational, after all -- but the other part regretted saying anything in the first place.

Still, he wondered if it’d be best if someone from outside of Forangal knew the reality of the situation. Sigurd wasn’t willing to open up to Raedan about _everything_ just yet, but... maybe it could’ve helped if one of Aegenwulf’s oldest allies had the gist of what was going on.

He only prayed he wasn’t wrong.

“...It’s Algar.” Sigurd finally confessed.

Raedan furrowed his brow. “Algar? You mean Aegenwulf’s housecarl? What about him? Have you noticed anything strange?”

“Nothing specific,” he lied, “but it doesn’t take much to see that he’s influencing Aegenwulf’s way of thinking -- and _not_ in a good way.”

Strangely enough, the other man didn’t seem too shocked. “Yes... I’ve heard the folks in this castle whispering about him. Edric’s mentioned him a few times as well. I get the impression that no one here is really fond of him, and now I’m starting to suspect there’s more to it than mere speculation.”

“Indeed. Everyone I’ve met so far has called him a snake. Perhaps it’d be worth keeping an eye on him--” 

Sigurd came to an abrupt pause, suddenly noticing a lone flame glowing in the distance. It appeared to be coming from the pier just as Gjuki said it would, and he could’ve sworn he saw someone moving around in the shadows.

It must’ve been him.

“Sigurd?” Raedan said, pulling the viking from his thoughts. “Is... everything alright?”

The bodyguard brought his gaze back to the nobleman, quickly conjuring up an excuse.

“Erm, f-forgive me, my lord. I hate to cut our conversation short, but I just remembered I have an important matter to take care of. I’m afraid it can’t wait. If you’ll excuse me...”

Raedan nodded, giving him a casual wave. “Of course, Sigurd. Do what you must, and thank you for lending your ear to this old dog. I’ll keep in mind what you said about Algar, and I think we’d both do best to observe his every move. In the meantime, keep Aegenwulf’s children safe, understand? I don’t know what’s going on with his housecarl, but those little rascals don’t deserve any harm.”

“Understood. You have my word.”

The Saxon began heading for the exit, satisfied with the information he gathered. “Very good. I’ll see myself off, then. Take care of yourself, Lone Wolf. This place is far from safe, and I fear it’ll stay that way for quite some time.” He gave him one last glance. 

“Until we meet again.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A FEW MINUTES LATER**

**THE PIER**

Tugging his hood further down his face, Sigurd stuck to the path as he navigated his way through the darkness, doing his best to stay concealed in the overwhelming blackness of the night.

So far, he had yet to notice anyone tailing him through the wilderness, and the foliage around him remained calm with inactivity, but he couldn’t seem to fight off the sense of dread that was crawling underneath his skin.

It just felt... ominous out here. There was too much silence; too much stillness. The world was devoid of any life during this time of day, and it didn’t reflect the same atmosphere Sigurd experienced when he went hunting with Edric at all. 

Perhaps it was just nerves, he thought. The night always seemed to draw out a certain type of fear from people’s hearts, and the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be out here in the first place certainly didn’t help.

His mind may have been racing with about a thousand different thoughts at the moment, what with all the anxiety that was building up in his chest, but he had to remind himself to stay calm.

Panicking would only make him stand out more after all, and he couldn’t afford to be caught.

“...Gjuki?” Sigurd whispered cautiously, quietly approaching the pier as he stepped into the brazier’s circle of light. “Gjuki, are you there?”

There was no response.

“Gjuki,” He repeated a bit louder, starting to grow concerned. “It’s me, Sigurd. You can come out.”

Still, he received no answer.

_Where was that damned bard?_ He wondered. Had Gjuki been forced to flee prematurely due to some sort of threat? Or had Sigurd simply mistaken this flame as his signal?

He assumed the fire had been lit by Gjuki, considering that this pier was abandoned. No one else had any reason to make use of this place, and the timing of its appearance had to be more than just a coincidence. 

Though, in spite of all that, the bard remained nowhere to be seen. There was no trace of Gjuki lying around the vicinity, and if Sigurd looked closely enough at the wooden floor of the pier, he could’ve sworn he saw some type of red liquid staining its surface.

_Wait a minute._

_Was that...?_

“Hello, Lone Wolf.”

Whirling around at the sudden voice, Sigurd barely had any time to react before he felt the sharp sting of an armored fist bashing him in the face, causing him to fall to the ground.

He heard a group of footsteps swarming him as soon as he hit the floor, and within the blink of an eye, a pair of men had grabbed him by the arms, restraining him in their grasp.

“Hold him down!” A familiar voice bellowed over the commotion.

Sigurd struggled violently in their grip and desperately attempted to break free, only to receive a firm kick to the stomach. His head was still spinning from the initial punch, and now, his organs felt as if they were about to climb up his throat too.

“Stay still!” One of the men barked, shoving Sigurd’s face into the ground as he bent the man’s arms behind his back. But the viking wasn’t done fighting yet.

Despite being somewhat dazed from the attack, Sigurd wrestled even harder with the guards and let out an aggressive grunt, trying to weaken their grasp.

Before he could resist their seizure any further however, a metallic scrape suddenly reached his ears, forcing him to bring his attention to the dagger that was now kissing the flesh on his throat.

“Move one more muscle,” his captor hissed, “and I’ll plant this little beauty straight through your eye.”

Sigurd glared at the man on the other side of the blade, instantly recognizing their face.

“...Algar.”

The housecarl grinned widely, leaning in closer to him as he pulled his hood back. “Well, well. If it isn’t the blue-eyed demon. I had a feeling you would turn up sooner or later, Sigurd. I’m so glad to see you again.”

Sigurd ignored the man’s taunts, focused entirely on the absence of his friend. “Where’s Gjuki? What have you done with him?”

Algar raised a brow. “Oh, you mean the bard? There’s no need to worry about him, mate. I assure you, he’s receiving the _exact_ treatment he deserves.” 

The viking glowered at the malevolence in his tone, horrified to imagine what Gjuki could’ve been going through at the moment.

“I’ll kill you for this, you dog...!” Sigurd growled through clenched teeth.

The Saxon offered nothing but a chuckle in response. “You’ve certainly got a fire in you, Lone Wolf. There’s no denying that. I almost... respect it in a way. But unfortunately, I doubt you’ll be doing _anything_ in your position.”

Algar grabbed Sigurd by the hair, yanking his head upwards from the ground with a hard tug. 

“Did you _honestly_ think I wouldn’t figure out what you and your friend were doing? How blind do you think I am? I warned you what would happen if you defied me, Sigurd, but it seems my threats fell on deaf ears. A shame, really, seeing as how you would’ve made a great warrior. All you had to do was follow our _fucking_ orders. Now though, I’m afraid your fate rests in Aegenwulf’s hands.”

Algar let go of the viking’s hair and stood up from the ground, giving his men a series of commands.

“Tie him up, and bring him back to the castle. I’ll inform the ealdorman of what has transpired here. In the meantime, make sure this one stays put in the dungeons. I don’t want him to see even a _sliver_ of sunlight until Aegenwulf permits it.”

“Right away, sir.” They answered in unison.

“Good. Then our business here is concluded. Oh, and Sigurd?” Algar shot a smirk at him. “Have no fear. I’ll personally see to it that your friend Edric hears of this. Can’t wait to see what _he_ thinks.”

Sheathing his weapon, Algar swiftly walked over to his horse and prepared to return to the castle, dousing the brazier’s fire with a splash of water from the river.

Meanwhile, his men wrapped a cloth around Sigurd’s mouth and secured him with an abundance of ropes, ensuring that the man couldn’t move. Afterwards, they hauled him up from the ground and threw him over the back of one of their mounts, rendering him completely defenseless.

Sigurd was terrified right now. He had no idea what Algar intended to do with him, nor if Aegenwulf would spare him a second time -- and considering the fact that Gjuki could’ve been dead, he assumed he had lost his only chance to discover what the housecarl was doing behind closed doors.

Everything was going to hell. 

Not only would he be a prisoner of Algar’s now, his identity would also be exposed to everyone in Forangal. They would learn his real name, and finally hear the truth of his cryptic background. Edric would believe that his clan was responsible for the death of his brother, and the trust that they had built thus far would crumble into ash.

_Blood of Tyr,_ Sigurd thought to himself. _What on earth had done?_ Would he even survive this next week?

How was he going to contact Eivor now? Were Gjuki’s people aware of what was happening? Surely, Eivor would realize something was amiss with the bard’s disappearance. 

Or perhaps... he would just assume they were dead. Hope was in short supply nowadays due to everything going on in the war, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to believe that Sigurd had been killed whilst in the hands of Saxon enemies. Eivor probably had many other things to worry about at the moment, and the viking could only pray that his brother would be vigilant enough to notice that something had gone wrong.

Otherwise... Sigurd didn’t know what else he would do. There weren’t many chances to escape in a situation like this, and the odds were heavily stacked against him. 

Right now, his only option seemed to be compliance. He imagined his stay with Algar would simply worsen if he fought back, and any defiance would’ve surely swayed Aegenwulf towards a less forgiving approach.

Edric was the one person who had any hope of changing the ealdorman’s mind, and just like before, Sigurd had no choice but to rely on the young man’s help.

He was the only one who could’ve saved him now, and unless his view of the viking changed after hearing Algar’s report, Sigurd hoped he would be able to see reason. 

There was something deeper connecting the two of them, and now, after all this time, he would finally see for himself if it ever actually meant anything.


	11. The Trial

**THE NEXT DAY**

**FORANGAL CASTLE, THE DUNGEONS**

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

That was all Sigurd could hear as he sat alone in his cell, watching droplets of water trickle down from the ceiling. 

It was dead silent in this part of the castle, despite the havoc Algar had wreaked, and even though there was a hurricane of commotion whirling around upstairs, the stone walls of the dungeon had completely blocked off the outside world, trapping the Sigurd in a pit of blackness.

There was hardly even any light in here. The only reason the viking hadn’t entirely lost his sense of sight just yet was due to a distant torch flickering in the nearby corridor, which sent a very faint glow seeping into his cell.

Pillars of darkness could be seen fanning out from where the iron bars stood, and in the absence of any other prisoners, Sigurd was suddenly beginning to realize how horrified he truly was.

He had no idea if he’d even live to see the end of this week. For all he knew, he could’ve already been living his final moments in this world. Based on the way the guards were speaking, it sounded like Aegenwulf was planning to pass judgement on him today, and he had no doubts that Algar would do everything in his power to influence the ealdorman.

As for Edric... Sigurd hadn’t heard from him yet. No one in the castle had paid him a visit ever since his arrest, and Gjuki remained to be unseen.

Hell, he didn’t even know if the bard was still alive. It was no secret that Aegenwulf despised the Danes, and considering the fact that his housecarl was the one steering this whole ship, it was most-likely that Gjuki had already been killed.

Sigurd just wished he knew what the man was doing before he got caught. Did he actually manage to find Algar’s crypt? Did he learn something about him that he shouldn’t have? How did he get captured in the first place?

He supposed it was too late to receive an answer for anyof these questions now. Their entire plan had been ruined because of one simple mistake, and now, Sigurd was just starting to come to terms with the fact that he was probably never going to see Eivor again.

In spite of all his effort to reunite with his brother and bring the people behind Ravensthorpe to justice, everything they had worked for was now falling apart. 

Such was the way of war. They could fight for as long as they wanted to, but sometimes, the battle was just never meant to be won.

It was what fate intended, and now, Sigurd was beginning to realize that.

“--My lord,” the guard standing outside suddenly said, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

The visitor ignored the man’s statement, focusing entirely on the task at hand.

“Where’s Sigurd?” He asked. “He’s in there, isn’t he? Let me in. I need to speak with him.”

“Lord Edric, please,” the guard repeated. “Your father has given me strict orders not to let _anyone_ through. That includes you. I can’t let you see him.”

Still, the young man persisted. “He’s my _friend._ I won’t just leave him in there. I only need a moment. Then I’ll leave.”

The guard held a hand up. “The ealdorman will be livid if he learns I’ve granted anyone entry.”

“Then I’ll take the blame,” Edric insisted. “Just let me talk to him. Please. All I ask is a few minutes. I won’t be any trouble.”

The other man stuttered out of hesitance. “I... I don’t know, my lord.”

“I understand your reluctance,” the nobleman replied, “but this could be the last chance I’ll ever get to see Sigurd. You’re the one guarding him. You must know what he’s done. It’s most-likely my father will execute him immediately. Please. Just give me a few moments to speak with him. I’ll tell the ealdorman it wasn’t your fault.”

The guard sighed in defeat, finally giving in to Edric’s pleas. “...V-Very well, my lord. You may see him. But for both our sakes, make it quick. Algar will have my balls on a spit if he learns what I’ve done. And I don’t fancy facing Aegenwulf’s wrath either.”

Edric gave him a reassuring nod. “No harm will come to you. I promise. Thank you.”

Stepping off to the side, the guard opened the door behind him with a metallic _screech_ and removed himself from the entrance, allowing the nobleman to walk in.

As for Sigurd, the man was dreading having to face Edric after everything that happened. He knew the Saxon already had his doubts about the vikings due to the whole incident with Gareth, but now that he had betrayed the boy’s trust after spending weeks just to earn it, he didn’t know what on earth he was going to say.

How was he going to explain all this to the man? Would he even believe the truth? What would happen to him after today’s events? 

There was no telling how Edric would react to the things Sigurd had on his mind, but if their relationship these past few weeks was anything to go by, he hoped that the man would at least be willing to hear him out. 

He was the last ally Sigurd had within these walls, and if the viking couldn’t convince him to give him another chance, then there was no hope for him at all.

“Sigurd?” Edric said quietly, approaching the cell. “ _There_ you are. Algar told me you were down here, but I wanted to see it for myself.” He gripped one of the bars, trying to get a better view of the viking. “...What the hell is _going_ on? Are you alright?”

Sigurd remained seated on the floor, unable to even look him in the eye.

“I thought you already knew. Did Algar not say anything?”

The young man scowled. “Oh, he said _plenty,_ but I didn’t believe a word of it. You know how that man is. His lips twist anything that comes out of them. He claimed you were a traitor, and said that you were planning to assault the castle behind our backs. But... surely that can’t be true.”

A tinge of doubt gripped Edric’s voice. “...Can it?”

Sigurd closed his eyes in shame, sighing deeply out of regret.

“Despite... certain reservations I held about the plan, yes. I’m afraid it’s true. Algar has lied to you about many things, but this is not one of them.”

The nobleman fell completely silent at the answer, totally taken aback by the confession. A sense of betrayal had grown in his lost gaze, and in the emptiness that followed Sigurd’s unexpected response, the viking could practically _hear_ Edric’s brow furrowing.

“You mean... you really _were_ going to attack the fortress? Even after all this? Y-You actually...”

The Saxon took a moment to gather his thoughts, bewildered by this turn of events.

“But _why,_ Sigurd? Why would you do that? I know not everyone here has given you the respect you deserve, but... we _saved_ you. We nursed you back to health. We gave you a place to stay. We...” Edric paused briefly, trying to keep himself together, “...I thought there was something between us.”

Sigurd glanced up at him, his tone heavy with remorse. “I care for you Edric, but this had nothing to do with you. This was solely between me and your father.”

The young man tilted his head in confusion. “My father? What are you talking about? What’s going on? What isn’t he telling me?”

The viking steadily rose from the floor, his figure moving like a shadow in the night.

“When we first met,” Sigurd explained, “you asked me what happened to my clan; why I was traveling alone. I told you they were all killed.”

“Yes, I remember.” Edric replied. “Was that a lie?”

Sigurd shook his head. “No, but I didn’t tell you the full truth either. The reality is... Algar was responsible for wiping them out. And your father gave the order.”

Edric tightened his grip on the bar, reluctant to believe what he was hearing. 

“... _What?_ No. Surely, you’re mistaken. What reason would my father have to attack you like that? What could he have against your clan? Why would he do something so extreme?” A sudden thought crossed his mind, causing a dark sense of suspicion to cloud his eyes. “...Who _are_ you, exactly?”

Sigurd peered at Edric through the darkness, finally deciding to come clean about everything.

“Your people call me Lone Wolf,” he said, “but my real name is Sigurd Styrbjornson. I am the son of a Norse king, and the jarl of the Raven Clan. I originally come from a place called Ravensthorpe, but was forced into these lands after Algar launched an ambush on our village. That is how I ended up on your shores.”

The Saxon’s voice fell to a shaky whisper. “W-Wait. The _Raven_ Clan? You mean... _your_ peoplekilled Gareth? _You_ were the ones who took him away from me...? Why... why would you...?”

Sigurd grasped Edric’s hand through the bars, eager to clear his name.

“No, Edric. It wasn’t us.”

The man scoffed bitterly. “You honestly expect me to believe that after everything you’ve just told me? You admitted to plotting revenge behind our backs, and now you’re claiming that you had nothing to do with Gareth’s death? How do I know you speak the truth? What reason do I have to trust you anymore?”

Sigurd shook the bar in his grip. “I was the _jarl,_ Edric. Nothing happened in our clan without me knowing. If we really killed your brother, I would’ve heard of it. But I swear to you... I knew nothing about Gareth until I met you. My clan had no quarrel with your family. We had no reason to go after him.”

The nobleman sighed in frustration. “Well, if not you, then who?”

The viking stammered. “I... I don’t know, Edric. Truly. I’m doing my best to find out, but Algar stopped me before I could make anymore progress.”

That piqued Edric’s interest. “You mean... you actually had a lead?”

Sigurd nodded. “Yes. Well, my ally did. His name is Gjuki. He was helping me investigate the assault on Ravensthorpe, and ended up discovering that Algar had a secret crypt hidden somewhere. He spent this past week just trying to find it... and my gut tells me he learned something. Something that could ruin Algar completely.”

“You don’t know what it was, though?”

“No. Algar seized me before we could venture any further. He trapped me in the woods outside of Forangal last night, and Gjuki was already long gone by the time I arrived. Now, I’m not even certain if the man still lives.”

Edric let out a deep breath in response to the explanation and hung his head low, unsure of whom to believe. 

He trusted his father with his life, and saw no reason for Aegenwulf to keep secrets from him... but there was a strange type of sincerity in Sigurd’s voice that led him to wonder if he was telling the truth.

After all, it didn’t take a genius to see that Algar was _far_ from what most people would consider to be an honorable man. He clung onto the ealdorman’s ear like a serpent in the Garden of Eden, and carried an ominous shadow to him that always made it feel like he was hiding behind some sort of pretense.

It wasn’t that difficult to assume that Algar was overseeing a covert operation behind Aegenwulf’s back. Edric thought it was rather clear that the man always had his own agenda, and if Sigurd truly _did_ have an idea as to what was going on with Gareth’s death, he wondered if, perhaps, it was worth giving the viking a second chance.

The only problem was -- he doubted Aegenwulf would feel the same way.

“O-Okay, Sigurd...” Edric finally said, his tone still sharp with conflict, “I... I believe you.”

The other man’s eyes widened in surprise. “You do?”

“I think so. Lord knows it’s going to take me some time to wrap my head around all this, but I’d trust you over Algar any day. There _is_ one issue, though.”

Sigurd shrugged. “What is it?”

“I’m not the ealdorman.” Edric replied plainly. “My word means next to nothing in the court. I may have been able to save you once, but normally, the only people my father listens to are Bishop Hundwerth and Algar himself -- neither of which are very fond of you. There’s also the fact that Thegn Raedan will be joining us as well. So even if I try to sway the trial today, I’m not sure what influence I’ll have.”

“You must _try,”_ the Norseman insisted. “If there’s one person who can shift Aegenwulf’s mind, it’s you.”

The Saxon remained unconvinced. “Perhaps. Though, I fear my father’s mind is not always his own these days. He is often controlled by grief, and with Algar at his side, that grief can turn into spite. I’ll... I’ll do what I can to save you, Sigurd, but...”

Edric’s stern expression cracked under the weight of his final words, revealing the vulnerability hiding beneath. “...I can’t guarantee that you’ll make it out alive.”

The viking reflected his friend’s sullen mood, forcing himself to accept that today could have been his last. “...I understand, Edric. I know the odds are stacked against me here. But in spite of what may occur in the future, I appreciate your support.”

The young man seemed to relax somewhat upon hearing that. “I’m glad. I wish it didn’t have to end this way, but... for what it’s worth, I’m grateful that we could at least have this final conversation together.”

Edric’s eyes lit up with affection. “Oh, and Sigurd? In case my efforts to change the ealdorman’s mind don’t work...” He leaned closer to the bars, caressing Sigurd’s cheek through the gap. “Thank you. For everything.”

Without any hesitation, the Saxon placed a loving kiss on the viking’s lips and held him close, trying to hide the fact that he was devastated inside. Even though Edric knew there was a small chance of him ever seeing Sigurd again, he couldn’t fight against the part of him that was slowly falling for the man.

Sigurd was the only one who knew his secret; the only one who still accepted him for it. He had been there for him every step of the way, and treated him with compassion in spite of the hostility thrown against him.

He was the one blessing that Edric never even knew he needed, and now... the nobleman had to let him go.

“...I-I’m sorry,” Edric suddenly apologized, breaking the kiss. “I shouldn’t have done that. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t want to take this any further, and I just--”

Sigurd shook his head. “Don’t be. I may have distanced myself from you in the past, but the truth is, I’ve always felt the same way. My only regret is that I didn’t act on it sooner.”

The nobleman nodded in agreement. “Aye. Who knows, in an ideal world, perhaps we could’ve thrived from a relationship such as this.”

Sigurd’s face dimmed with heartache. “But not in this one.”

“...Not in this one.” Edric repeated.

Stepping away from the cell, the Saxon perked his head up towards the ceiling when he heard a mob of muffled arguments cluttering in the throne room, signaling the start of the trial. 

“Forgive me,” Edric said, “but I’m afraid I must leave you now. My father doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d rather not have Algar discover the subject of our conversation.”

“Go do what you must. I shall see you in the throne room later.”

“And God willing, after the trial as well. If not...” the nobleman cleared his throat, attempting to keep his composure, “...then it was a pleasure to know you, Sigurd. We may not meet again after this, but I promise, I’ll carry on the investigation in your stead. Both you _and_ my brother deserve justice, and I’ll do anything I can to deliver it. Until then...” Edric turned on his heel, reluctantly making his way out of the dungeon, “...may your gods protect you.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A WHILE LATER**

**THE THRONE ROOM**

Slipping through the large crowd that was gathering in the throne room, Edlynne took her place amongst the other nobles as they awaited Sigurd’s arrival, anxious to see what the ealdorman had in mind for him.

At the moment, Aegenwulf was currently sitting in his throne with Hundwerth and Algar at his side, followed by Thegn Raedan who was spectating the trial from the lower levels of the hall.

As for the rest of his family, they too were attending the trial, and were silently standing by as the guards prepared for the judgement.

Edric, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as eager as his fellow noblemen. A look of panic had plastered itself onto his face, and with Sigurd’s life hanging so loosely by a thread, he was honestly terrified of how this day could unfold.

With the Lord’s blessing, everyone’s heads would still be attached to their shoulders when the trial was done. If not, he dreaded to see what would come next.

“I can’t believe it...” Joseph murmured, “Sigurd, a bloody jarl. And the son of a king, too. I never would have guessed.”

Edlynne shared her brother’s shock. “Indeed. It frightens me to imagine what could’ve happened to him before he washed up on our shores. I always assumed it was a simple conflict that had been bred by this war, but if Sigurd truly _is_ a prince, then it must have been something grievous to target a man of his standing.”

The boy let out a groan. “I don’t even want to _think_ about the political chaos this will sow. The Danes aren’t just going to ignore the fact that we’re holding one of their jarls prisoner. For everyone’s sake, I pray to God that father spares him. Otherwise, we’ll be doomed.”

Edlynne gazed at the floor, knotting her hands together out of nervousness. “...Do you think this is my fault?”

The question took Joseph by surprise. “What? What are you on about? How could this be your fault?”

The girl recalled their time in Agenbury. “ _I_ was the one who insisted that we bring Sigurd back to Forangal. I wanted to help him, and yet... I’m wondering if I just made things worse. Had he survived his wounds, Sigurd could’ve simply left Wedenscire. He could’ve gone home. He could’ve been free. But now, he’s bound to the service of an ealdorman, and waiting to meet his demise... all because I couldn’t walk away.”

Joseph looked his sister in the eye, quick to defend her. “You can’t blame yourself for this, Edlynne. I know Sigurd doesn’t.”

“But what if he’s just hiding that from me? What if he doesn’t have the heart to tell me that this is my doing?”

The boy put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me, Edlynne. Even if your actions may have led to this, you did what you did out of compassion. You saved Sigurd because you didn’t want to let an innocent man die. No one can fault you for that.”

Edlynne let out a sigh. “...Perhaps you’re right. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that if I left this whole matter alone, things would’ve turned out for the better. Sigurd’s here because of me, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to bear it if he dies today.” 

She pushed her thoughts aside for the moment, returning to the trial at hand. “I suppose it’s too late for regrets now. What happens to Sigurd is up to father... and I can only pray that he’ll see the good in him just like I do.”

Bringing their conversation to a halt, one of the guards standing at the entrance suddenly bellowed over all the commotion in the throne room, announcing the arrival of their infamous prisoner.

“My lord, Ealdorman Aegenwulf!” He called out, causing everyone to go completely silent. “...We bring you Sigurd Styrbjornson.”

Stepping off to the side, the guard returned to his post as a pair of Algar’s men came marching down the center, weaving their way through the middle of enormous crowd that had gathered in the hall.

In their arms, Aegenwulf saw none other than Sigurd himself being dragged along in chains, his head drooping low in despondency. His body was littered with bruises and scars that he had received from Algar’s brutal arrest the previous night, and much like the first time they met, he was dressed in nothing but a ragged set of trousers, exposed for all the world to see.

It was a satisfying change of pace to greet the man like this, Aegenwulf thought. Despite the pain he still cradled inside his heart for his late son, he couldn’t deny that he felt a wave of relief washing over him now that he had the Raven Clan’s jarl in his grasp.

Without even realizing it, he had captured the man responsible for Gareth’s death, and prepared him for the judgement that was long overdue. The people guilty of taking his eldest child away from him would finally face punishment, and Aegenwulf would at last find the peace he had fought so hard to maintain.

It was an event he wished on no parent out there, but one that he had dreamt of for countless nights.

“Sigurd. Styrbjornson.” The ealdorman said firmly, watching as the guards plopped the Norseman down on the floor. “Nearly two months have passed since your people erased my son from this world, and yet, even after all the effort I’ve put into ensuring that such an event never repeats itself -- I find the very jarl of the clan responsible on my own doorstep. God _certainly_ has a unique sense of humor, wouldn’t you agree?”

Aegenwulf traced the ornament on the throne’s armrest, throwing a glare at the viking. “Well, in spite of all the havoc you’ve wreaked, I can promise you this. Your judgement will be as lethal as it will be swift. You may have managed to evade the consequences of your identity for a few weeks now, but no more. Your deception ends today.”

The Saxon rose from his seat, declaring his decided punishment for the prisoner.

“Sigurd Styrbjornson, I hereby charge you with treason. There is evidence that you sought aid from the enemy, and plotted an assault behind our backs. You concealed your true nature from us, and even had the gall to feign innocence in subjects pertaining to Gareth’s murder. As punishment, you are to have your head cut off immediately after this trial. Your body will promptly be disposed of, and your head will be displayed on a pike.”

Edric felt his heart skip at the announcement, causing him to step forward from the crowd.

“Father! Wait!” He blurted out.

Aegenwulf jolted his head towards him, quirking a brow out of curiosity. “Edric? You have something to add, my son?”

“...I-I do.” The young man replied. “If I may speak?”

The ealdorman gave him a permissive nod. “Carry on.”

Edric took a deep breath, admittedly frightened to see the reaction Aegenwulf would have to his pleas.

“I realize you have no reason to trust him, father. But I know Sigurd. I know he’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve death.”

Bishop Hundwerth almost laughed at the statement. “Doesn’t deserve death? Have you taken leave of your senses, Lord Edric? This man would have launched an assault on the castle given enough time, and you wish to pardon him?”

Edric grew more adamant in his temperament. “He lied to us, yes, but he only did so in order to survive.”

“Sigurd already had everything he required under our care. We gave him food, shelter, clothes, arms, weapons. What more could one need?”

“Safety.” The young man countered. “Ever since Sigurd first arrived at Forangal, he has been met with nothing but contempt. Our people have treated him as an outsider -- and even worse -- a _slave._ He has been abused, humiliated, and ostracized time and time again. With such a precarious sense of security, is it any wonder that he felt the need to plan an escape? We may have given Sigurd a place to lay his head, but what good is that when you constantly need to sleep with one eye open?”

Aegenwulf listened to his son’s words intently. “So, what do you propose we do then?”

Edric hesitated for a moment. “...Give him a second chance. But this time, regard him as an equal.”

Hundwerth scoffed. “An _equal...!”_

“Let him stay within our walls,” the nobleman continued, raising his voice slightly, “but instead of treating him with scorn and suspicion, treat him with the same respect we would offer to any fellow Saxon. Perhaps _then,_ Sigurd will see no need to arm himself with lies.”

Still, the bishop pushed back against him. “This is preposterous! This heathen would have seen us dead if offered the chance, and yoursolution is to reward him with even _more_ liberty? What kind of message will this send to the Danes in Wedenscire? That they may do and say as they please without any consequence? No. We _must_ remind them who the authority is in these lands.”

Aegenwulf nodded in agreement. “The bishop raises a fair point, Edric. After all the crimes Sigurd has committed, why should I grant him the privilege of roaming our halls as an equal?”

“Because you will never earn someone’s true loyalty if you keep them in chains. Sigurd _is_ a man of honor, but even _he_ won’t fight for someone who always has their boot on his neck.”

The ealdorman turned to Algar, interested to hear his opinion. “...And you, Algar? What are your thoughts on this?”

The housecarl’s stance was rather obvious. “I say it’s not worth the risk, my lord. We should kill him now and be done with it. He’s already taken advantage of our hospitality once. What’s to prevent him from doing it again?”

“Another valid point to consider.” Aegenwulf remarked.

Edric gazed apologetically at Sigurd upon hearing the ealdorman’s response, unsure of what else he could do to save him. He had already attempted to reason with his father multiple times, but with every argument he made to deter Aegenwulf’s train of thought, it only seemed that two others were thrown back at him.

It was evident that the majority of the court shared a certain distrust for the Norseman, and in the absence of anyone else to support him in his claims, the young lord had no idea how he was going to pull Sigurd out of this mess.

He was heavily outnumbered in this trial, and it didn’t look like there was much chance of him winning over the crowd.

...Thankfully, he wasn’t alone.

“Ealdorman Aegenwulf,” Raedan suddenly called, stepping out into the open. “If I may add my own thoughts?”

Aegenwulf found himself intrigued. “Speak your mind, Thegn Raedan.”

The grizzled man rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, pacing around the hall.

“...I believe there is merit to what your son says.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye.” Raedan answered, coming to a stop. “Sigurd is a jarl, my lord. And a _prince_ on top of that. You and I know better than anyone how strong the Northmen’s sense of honor is. They are bound by it. If we execute one of their own without giving him the chance to defend himself, or the chance to enter Valhalla... it will _not_ bode well with the Danes in this shire.”

He paused for a second, allowing his words to sink in. “Perhaps, for now, the best course of action would be to spare him. If we permit Sigurd to live among us as an equal, it will prove to the Danes that coexistence _is_ possible. Tensions are high enough as it is here. Sigurd’s death would accomplish nothing except starting a war that we are not equipped to win. I say we let him live.”

Aegenwulf wasn’t fully convinced just yet. “And what assurance do we have that he won’t repeat his actions? He has just been caught consorting with the enemy, and you wish for me to loosen his chains? What guarantee is there that he won’t abuse his freedom?”

A solemn expression spread across Raedan’s face. “I mean no disrespect, ealdorman, but I’ve witnessed Sigurd’s behavior firsthand. He _is_ capable of being civil. If he has treated anyone here with hostility, it’s most-likely because they deserved it. Don’t give him a reason to fight, and he won’t. It’s as simple as that. No man _chooses_ to live in shackles.”

The ealdorman let out a deep sigh and lowered himself into the throne once again, furrowing his brow in thought. He wanted nothing more than to bring Gareth’s killers to justice, but he could not deny that Raedan had a point.

The political situation in Wedenscire was unstable, to say the _least._ Every single day, his scouts reported altercations between the Saxons and the Danes, and if Sigurd were to die here in their home, he imagined it would spark a fire that they could not afford to put out.

On the other hand, though... how much was he willing to risk? How many chances would Aegenwulf grant Sigurd before finally sending the man to be judged before God? He had already been foolish enough to spare him once, and he did not wish to see the damage that would be dealt if Sigurd betrayed him a second time.

Still... maybe there _was_ an alternate solution to all this. Aegenwulf had no intentions of letting Sigurd entirely off the hook, but he wondered if some sort of compromise could be made in the stead of an execution.

He did not wish to endanger the safety of his people, after all. And he imagined Gareth wouldn’t have wanted that either.

“Perhaps... there _is_ another way forward.” Aegenwulf pondered aloud, earning an alarmed look from Algar.

The ealdorman turned to his guardsmen, giving them a simple command. “Guards! Bring out the bard.”

Sigurd perked his head up at that, uncertain of whether or not he misheard the man.

Did he just say “bard?”

...Was Gjuki _alive?_

Approaching the center of the throne room with Gjuki in tow, Aegenwulf’s guards hurled the battered Dane to the floor and left him to writhe on the stone, watching idly as the man wheezed in pain.

Meanwhile, the nobles of the court gasped in unison upon seeing the mutilated prisoner and began murmuring quietly amongst themselves, admittedly perturbed by the injuries he sustained. 

It was no secret that Algar treated his prisoners with severe cruelty, but even _then_ , they couldn’t hide their shock. Gjuki’s current condition bordered on inhumane, and frankly, Sigurd shared the Saxons’ horror.

He could hardly recognize the man anymore.

Gjuki’s hair had been cut short as an act of humiliation, his feet had been burned on the soles, two of his fingers had been removed, and on his back, Sigurd spotted the fresh lacerations of a flogging.

His face was stained with the trails of dried tears, and in the fear that clouded his eyes, Sigurd found nothing but fragments of the man he once knew.

He had been completely broken. Algar had obliterated Gjuki’s spirit, and reduced the man to nothing but a hollow shell.

The only thing that confused Sigurd... was why the housecarl bothered keeping him alive.

“...I’m sorry, Sigurd...” Gjuki whispered weakly. “...They... caught me...”

The other man examined his flesh, frightened to the core. “Gods above, Gjuki... what did Algar _do_ to you?”

But the bard didn’t respond. Instead, he simply remained on the floor and silently awaited Aegenwulf’s next move, doing his best to stay conscious as the ealdorman revealed his solution.

“Guards,” Aegenwulf ordered, “lend them your blades, and free Sigurd of his binds.”

Exchanging glances with one another, the soldiers at Gjuki’s side hesitated for a second before unsheathing their weapons and sliding them across the floor, ensuring that both of them were armed.

Meanwhile, another guard approached Sigurd from behind and unlocked the chains biting into his wrist, allowing him to escape their sharp clutch.

“You wish to prove your allegiance to me, Sigurd?” Aegenwulf questioned. “Then I give you this task: kill Gjuki in my name, and _yours_ shall be cleared.”

Edric spoke up once again, feeling the urge to intervene. “Father, _please._ This is not the way--”

_“--Enough,_ Edric.” The ealdorman snapped back, tired of his son’s protests. “I have indulged you enough for one day. You asked that I spare Sigurd’s life, and now I am giving him the chance to save it. Do _not_ push your luck.”

The boy backed down reluctantly, clearly upset with his father’s methods. “...As you wish, father.”

Bringing his attention back to Sigurd, Aegenwulf leaned forward in his throne and gestured to the swords, signaling him to do as he was commanded.

“Go on, then, Lone Wolf. If you are truly as loyal as my son claims, then this should be no problem for you. Otherwise, _two_ heads will roll today.”

Sigurd glanced at the weapon, unwilling to go through with the task. “Ealdorman, with all due respect, I... I don’t think I...”

“It’s either this or death,” Aegenwulf stated plainly. “I am offering you a way out. I suggest you use it. The choice is yours.”

Freezing out of desperation, the Norseman gazed hopelessly at Gjuki’s frail body and hovered his hand above the sword’s hilt, incredibly torn by the impossible dilemma.

There was no honor in killing a man who had already been beaten. Thanks to Algar’s harsh treatment, Gjuki was now at a point where he could barely even walk, and the fact that he had become a friend of Sigurd’s over these past few weeks certainly didn’t help make matters easier.

He felt nothing but shame at the thought of killing Gjuki in exchange for his own life, but... what about Eivor? That man was _counting_ on him to return. Surely, giving up _both_ of their lives now would be a waste.

Well, regardless of what happened, Sigurd had to admit that he was concerned about Aegenwulf’s morality. He always assumed that the ealdorman was more rational than Algar, but now... he wondered if he should’ve just let Eivor do whatever he wished. There _were_ men and women of honor residing at Forangal, but sadly, none of them were the ones in power.

A force of true reckoning would have to strike Aegenwulf if they ever hoped to make a change, and after witnessing today’s events, Sigurd didn’t plan on dying before that happened.

He only hoped Eivor would be able to forgive him.

Reaching for the blade, Sigurd finally decided to comply with the ealdorman’s orders and took the weapon into his grasp, steadily rising from the floor.

In the meantime, a shaky breath escaped Gjuki’s lips in response to the action, and the bard gazed at him with a pitied stare.

“...Oh, Sigurd,” he lamented in defeat, “...they’ve finally gotten to you...”

The jarl clenched his jaw out of sorrow. “I’m sorry, Gjuki.”

The man nodded empathetically. “...We do what we must to survive. You... you have a brother to return to. I understand. I would do the same for Valdis. ...And I _have.”_

Gjuki extended an arm out, grabbing onto the sword. “...Very well, then. Let us fight to the death, _drengr._ But I will not die empty-handed.”

He forced himself up from the ground and slowly rose to his feet, wincing in agony as blood trickled from his wounds. He was already halfway to death in his current state, but it was quite clear to Sigurd that the man had no intentions of surrendering.

He may have been a slave at one point, but he had a warrior’s heart just like any other Dane. There was a fire in him that refused to be put out, and even Algar hadn’t been able to stifle it.

Gjuki brandished his blade, whispering one final phrase. _“Til Valhöll.”_

Limping towards Sigurd, the bard weakly raised his sword and brought it down in a firm strike, only to collapse to the floor when the weight of the iron threw him off balance.

His opponent had a wide window to land the killing blow as a result of the attack, and yet, despite what was at stake, Sigurd couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he merely stood by and waited for Gjuki to recover, wishing desperately that this was all just some bad dream.

“Fight me, Lone Wolf...!” The bard barked, picking up on Sigurd’s hesitance. “Don’t let me go to Helheim.”

Leaning on his sword for support, Gjuki stood up from the floor once again and lunged at his opponent a second time, swinging the weapon at Sigurd’s chest. Just like before however, the blade cut through nothing except thin air and left him stumbling forward, allowing the other man to throw a punch at him.

Gjuki fell to the ground and landed on his knees, trembling from the pain that was now throbbing in his bones. He barely had enough strength to hold onto his sword anymore, and yet, he refused to give up. He knew what awaited him on the other side, and the last thing Gjuki wanted was for the half-rotten goddess to enslave his soul.

And so, with one final attack, the man let out a rough battlecry and whirled around in a frenzy, attempting to plant the sword into Sigurd’s neck.

Just before the blade could make contact though, the other man swiftly swerved out of the way and gripped Gjuki by the shoulder, pausing for a minute before ultimately driving his own sword through the bard’s abdomen.

The two of them immediately came to a halt, freezing in each other’s embrace.

“...G-Gjuki?” Sigurd murmured in disbelief, still in the midst of processing what he’d just done.

The Dane returned his words with an empty stare, rendered completely silent by the finalizing sensation that was now overtaking him. There was a blankness in his eyes that made it look as if part of him had already transcended to the Corpse Hall, and with each passing second, Sigurd could feel his heartbeat dwindling more and more.

Before Gjuki could go to greet the Valkyries however, he leaned into the jarl’s ear and whispered one last thing, finally revealing what he had discovered in Algar’s secret crypt.

“...The Order... of the Ancients...” he unveiled. “He’s... one of them. The... Colossus.”

Unable to hold on any longer, Gjuki’s body fell limp in Sigurd’s arms as the life drained from him at last, leaving nothing but an empty corpse in its wake. 

Meanwhile, the other man found himself at a loss for words and simply stayed in place, utterly bewildered by what just happened. He felt as if the world around him had suddenly stopped turning, and in the deafening silence that followed Gjuki’s death, he heard the echoes of everything the bard said to him in the past, forcing him to come face-to-face with a blood-boiling revelation.

Algar... was with The Order. _He_ was one of the people Basim and Hytham had been targeting. _He_ was at the heart of all this.

But why go after the Raven Clan? Why go after Sigurd? What was it about them that was so troublesome that the Order felt the need to intervene? Did they know they had Hidden Ones walking among them? Or was there something else going on?

Sigurd didn’t know what to believe anymore. Within a single day, his entire life had been flipped upside-down, and his moral compass had been shifted towards a direction he never expected to follow. He was stained with the blood of a fellow Dane, and armed with the weapon of a Saxon.

He had been forced to slay one of his own allies in the name of survival, and now, Sigurd couldn’t help but question if Gjuki had been right all along. In the past, he refused to believe that he was being indoctrinated, but after today’s events, he wondered if he was even in control of his own mind.

What sort of monster killed his own people? What on earth had he _become?_ Did he even remember who he was anymore?

Snapping out of his thoughts, Sigurd finally removed the sword from Gjuki’s chest and let him collapse to the floor, admittedly still in shock.

Everywhere around him, he saw people gaping at him in fear and whispering in hushed tones, undeniably terrified of what was going to happen after this. Not only were they afraid of the conflict that would arise from such a mess, they were also scared to see their ealdorman’s sanity deteriorating so rapidly.

Despite his stern nature, Aegenwulf had never done anything like this before. His judgements were typically as firm as they were fair, but now... it was clear that Algar had corrupted his mind beyond redemption. His grief had been twisted into malice, and the death of his son served as no more than the seeds to an even greater war.

Well, unlike before, Sigurd wasn’t willing to back down from this one. He didn’t care how long it would take, or how hard he’d have to fight. He was going to ensure that Algar fell to his blade, and that his order never claimed any innocent lives again. He was just starting to scratch the surface with the information Gjuki had given him, and now, he only prayed that Eivor’s army would arrive in time.

The Gods were calling for blood to be spilled, and Sigurd was more than willing to deliver. No matter the cost.


	12. To War

**LATER THAT DAY**

**FORANGAL CASTLE, SIGURD’S CHAMBERS**

Sigurd gazed down at his hands, staring blankly into the distance as his mind tore itself apart with guilt.

His clothes were still stained with numerous splatters of Gjuki’s blood, and even though Aegenwulf finally decided to spare his life, Sigurd remained trapped in a pit of remorse, suddenly feeling an urgent desire to return home.

...What had he done? What had the Saxons turned him into? Was his mind even his own anymore? What would Eivor think about all this?

Only a handful of weeks had drifted by ever since Sigurd first washed up on Agenbury’s shore, and yet, the man felt as if a lifetime separated him from the past. He hardly recognized himself anymore after everything that had occurred, and considering how things were unfolding so far, part of him wished Edlynne had _left_ him at the river.

He didn’t deserve to be here, or in Valhalla. Backstabbers such as himself belonged in the darkest depths of Helheim, and Sigurd had no idea how he was going to face his brother once all this was over. 

He wanted nothing more than to reunite with the fragments that remained of his family, but in light of recent events, Sigurd was now beginning to question his _true_ motives, and how much survival really meant to him.

It would’ve been a dream come true to see Eivor’s face again, that much was true, but what would it matter if Sigurd didn’t even return as the same man? His brother was fighting to bring back the sibling he grew up with back in Fornburg, and yet, Sigurd felt as if he had become a total stranger.

There was barely anything left of the person he once was, and with Algar’s influence constantly digging deeper into the ealdorman’s mind, Sigurd didn’t even want to think about what he’d have to do to survive in the future.

Things were bad enough as it was. Any worse, and all Hell would break loose.

“Sigurd.”

Snapping out of his thoughts, the viking suddenly realized he wasn’t alone in his chambers and spotted Edric standing in front of him, trying to get his attention.

His brow was furrowed deeply in frustration, and judging by the weary look he wore on his face, Sigurd assumed he had just walked away from some sort of argument. Probably with Aegenwulf himself.

Sigurd glanced up at the man, still somewhat lost in shock. “...Edric? What are you doing here?”

The Saxon frowned in sympathy. “I apologize for intruding like this, but there’s something important you need to know. A decision was made after you left the throne room. Before I tell you about it, though... I wanted to see how you were doing first. That trial was just...” Edric sighed in disgust, “...well, you know.”

He took a seat next to the Norseman, bowing his head low in exhaustion.

“God, what an absolute mess. I knew my father had changed, but I never realized just how unhinged he was. What on earth was he _thinking?_ Forcing two men to fight like a pair of animals. Jesus... if the Danes didn’t hate us before, they certainly will now.”

Edric turned to Sigurd, switching to a gentler tone. “I’m so sorry, Sigurd. If I had known what my father intended, I would’ve stepped in sooner. I would’ve tried to speak with him. I would’ve--”

“--You’re not to blame.” The viking replied, his voice cold with anger. “You did everything you could.”

The other man let out a breath. “Maybe. I just wish it would’ve been enough. I mean, I’m glad to see you alive, but... my God. That poor man. What was his name. Gjuki? What the _hell_ did they do to him?”

“I feared he had already been killed,” Sigurd admitted. “But now, I’m starting to think that would’ve been a better fate.”

“No one deserves what he went through,” Edric agreed. “I still can’t believe my father would allow all this. He used to be so kind, and compassionate. He was always a firm man, but he _never_ indulged in such cruelty. What’s _happened_ to him?”

It didn’t take long for Sigurd to provide an answer. “Your father is no more than a pawn for Algar to use. You wish to eradicate the corruption in Wedenscire? You _must_ get rid of him first.”

Edric picked up on his tone. “Why? Have you learned something?”

The viking nodded. “Before Gjuki drew his last breath, he revealed to me what he found in Algar’s crypt. Apparently, the man is part of the Order of the Ancients. His alias among them is The Colossus.”

Edric displayed a puzzled look. “The Order of the Ancients? I’ve never heard of them. Have you?”

“Yes, actually. Though, my knowledge on them is far from abundant. Before my clan was attacked, my brother pursued some of their members who were operating in Lunden. I also know there are many others spread across England and Norway. They worship a god whose name I’ve never heard, and their motives remain a mystery to me. I have no idea why they would be interested in your father, or how Gareth is connected to all this.”

The nobleman slid a hand down his face. “Christ Almighty. What has my family gotten itself into? I’m not familiar with this organization, Sigurd, but I’ll do whatever I can to learn more about them. If they’re as widespread as you say, there _must_ be something we can find. Something that can put Algar down for good.”

“Just... tread carefully.” Sigurd warned. “Gjuki was on the same path as you before Algar captured him. I don’t want you to share his fate. There’s also the fact that he’ll likely be even _more_ protective of his secrets now that someone has infiltrated his crypt.”

“Of course. I’ll be as discreet as possible.”

The viking decided to switch topics. “Well, enough about that. I’d rather not spare another thought on that _bacraut_ after everything that’s happened. You mentioned you had something else you wanted to discuss?”

Edric sighed. “Right. You’re not going to like it. It’s... Bishop Hundwerth.”

Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What has he done now?”

“He _insists_ that you convert to Christianity. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but I’m afraid Lady Moira’s voice overpowered mine. My father’s decided that you’re to be baptized tomorrow morning, and recognized as a man of God.”

“But I already proved my loyalty,” the other man argued, his tone sharp with bitterness. “Wasn’t that the whole point of pitting me against my own friend? Or was that simply for their entertainment?”

Edric shared Sigurd’s annoyance. “That’s not how the bishop sees it. In his eyes, the only thing you proved is that you’re willing to murder one of your own if it means saving yourself. You may have given your word that you won’t betray us again, but for Hundwerth, the word of a pagan holds little merit. He’d rather trust the promise of a Christian.”

The Norseman rose from his bed, pacing around the room. “So it’s not enough that they torture my people and force me to slay them? Now I must also abandon my gods?”

The Saxon bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Sigurd. The unfairness of this situation isn’t lost on me, but I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do. My words seem to fall on deaf ears nowadays.”

“...It’s not your fault. You’ve already done more than enough for me.” Sigurd placed his hands on his hips, gazing out the window. “I suppose there’s no use in fighting it now. I’ve seen the kind of punishment that awaits me if I resist. I do not wish to leave my gods behind, but...” his voice softened with heartache, “...if this is the cost of survival, then... I’ll do it. I _need_ to get back home alive. I _need_ to see my brother again.”

Edric’s head jerked up in confusion. “Your brother? I thought he was dead.”

“So did I, but Gjuki informed me of his survival not too long ago. He was the only thing keeping us in touch. Now that he’s gone, I’m at a loss as to how I’ll contact my brother again should the need arise.”

The young man stood up from the bed and stepped behind Sigurd, resting an affectionate hand on his arm.

“...We _will_ get through this, Sigurd.” He whispered reassuringly. “I know it can be easy to forget, but you’re not alone in these walls. You have Edlynne, Joseph, Raedan... and me. We’re here for you.” 

The viking held onto Edric’s hand and turned around to face him, finding a sense of solace in his words.

“Thank you, Edric. These are dire times, but your kindness won’t be forgotten in the days to come.” Sigurd pulled the young man close, pecking a kiss on his forehead. “I’m glad I have you at my side.”

Edric smiled in his embrace, resting his head on the man’s chest. “As am I.” 

Falling into silence, the two of them simply stood there for a moment and savored each other’s company, attempting to cling onto any shred of comfort they could find. The entire castle had descended into disarray after Aegenwulf’s unpopular decision to spare Sigurd, and with Bishop Hundwerth preparing for the upcoming baptism, it seemed like peace in Forangal was naught but a distant memory.

There was arguing, debating, contempt, scorn -- and seeing as how Gjuki’s head was now displayed on a pike, Edric imagined that the war with the Danes would only erupt. 

It was Hell on earth inside Forangal’s walls, but with Sigurd there to protect him from any threats, Edric was able to feel some sense of security. It meant nothing to him that the man was a Dane, or a pagan rather than a Christian. He knew Sigurd to be good at heart, and frankly, despite what he expected, he trusted him more than his own _father_ these days. 

He only prayed that the tides of fate would be merciful in the near future. If he were to lose Sigurd to the chaos that was beginning to unravel, Edric didn’t know how he would proceed. That man was the only one willing to help him look into Gareth’s death, and if his instincts were correct, then Algar was at the center of it all.

He would need all the help he could get in order to take that beast down, and if that meant they had to fight for just a little longer, then Edric was willing to endure it. He just didn’t know where to start.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**TWO DAYS LATER**

**ELMENHAM, EAST ANGLIA**

Galloping towards the longhouse at full speed, Broder frantically stormed his way back to Eivor as rain heavily poured down from the clouds above, shrouding everything in a bleak darkness.

He had been running for his life ever since Algar cornered Gjuki at the crypt, and with the majority of their group now lying dead in the mud, Broder had no intentions of returning to Wedenscire until Eivor himself marched for the gates of Forangal.

He hated the idea of leaving Sigurd behind to deal with his troubles alone, but considering how erratic the ealdorman had become recently, Broder was no longer willing to risk it. Not on his own, at least.

He saw for himself what the Saxons did to Gjuki, and how they treated his corpse. He may have been eager to help Eivor reunite with his brother, but Broder had his own siblings to look out for, and the last thing he wanted was to end up being a mounted head for some Saxon nobleman.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

Yanking on the reins of his horse, Broder came to a screeching halt as the animal’s hooves went dragging through the mud, causing the steed to let out a panicked neigh. His body was aching terribly with fatigue thanks to the long journey, but even then, the viking refused to take a break. His mind had been trapped in a perpetual state of alarm ever since Gjuki’s death, and he was adamant to get the news back to Eivor.

Rushing to the entrance of the longhouse, Broder trudged through the storm and practically bashed the doors open, ignoring the curious stares he received from scattered civilians. 

Even though the rain had washed away most of the blood staining his armor, he still remained quite a sight to behold and traipsed through Elmenham’s fields like a walking corpse rising from its grave.

Once inside, Broder spotted Eivor conversing with Oswald and Valdis as the three of them discussed the war, clearly devising some sort of plan. Their voices were nearly inaudible underneath the relentless howls of the wind, but in spite of the interference, their heads still jolted in Broder’s direction upon his obtrusive entrance, causing them to let out a unanimous gasp.

“Brother!” Valdis greeted with relief. “You’ve returned.” Her expression instantly dimmed. “...Are you well? You look awful.”

The man jogged up to them, doing his best not to collapse on the spot. 

“Eivor...!” Broder exclaimed, somewhat out of breath. “There you are. I... I...”

“Easy, _drengr,”_ Eivor said in a calming tone. “Slow down. Tell me what’s going on.”

Broder took a moment to get his bearings, finally recovering from the treacherous ride home.

“...Gjuki’s dead, Eivor.”

Valdis’ eyes widened in horror. “ _What?_ What do you mean he’s dead? What happened?”

Broder decided to spare them the details. “We were searching a hidden crypt in Wedenscire, not too far away from Forangal. We thought there might’ve been clues inside, and there _were,_ but...”

Eivor urged him on. “But what?”

The other man shook his head in regret. “It was the ealdorman’s housecarl. An _argr_ snake called Algar. He captured Gjuki and slaughtered the rest of our men. I was the only one who managed to escape.”

Oswald caught onto his last words. “Wait, he _captured_ Gjuki? So he didn’t kill him immediately?”

“No,” Broder confirmed. “Algar took him to the dungeons.”

An alarming thought struck Eivor’s mind. “Wait, what about Sigurd? Where is he now? Is he alright?”

A dour look spread across Broder’s face. “He’s alive, but... _Gods._ It was madness, Eivor. When Algar took Gjuki in, it didn’t take him long to realize that he was working with Sigurd, so the ealdorman held a trial. They were willing to spare your brother’s life in spite of his crimes, but he had to do something in exchange. He had to kill Gjuki.”

Eivor froze at the news. 

“... _Sigurd..._ killed him?”

“Yes. He did not wish to, but the Saxons left him no choice. It was either him or Gjuki. He chose to comply in the end.” Broder turned to his sister. “...I tried everything I could to save him, Valdis. I did. But it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

The woman crossed her arms, trying to hide her pain. “I--” she choked up, “--oh, Gjuki...”

Broder hesitated to get the last part of his report out. He hated to constantly be the bearer of bad news, but he knew it was necessary.

“...There _is_ one more thing, Eivor. While we were in the crypt, we learned that Algar was part of the Order. There were a series of letters between him and some of the other members in their organization, but he’s burned them all now.”

Oswald paused. “A member of the Order? In Wedenscire? Are you _certain?”_

“Indeed. They call him The Colossus.”

Eivor mindlessly clenched his fist in response to the report and brought his attention to the king, unable to conceal the fire raging in his eyes.

“Oswald, we _must_ march on Forangal now. We have enough allies.”

The Saxon hesitated. “You’ve rallied a decent army, Eivor, but I’m still not certain if it’ll be sufficient. Forangal is a hefty fortress armed with many defenses. If we’re not careful, it could result in total obliteration.”

“We don’t have time to forge anymore alliances!” The viking argued. “Sigurd needs us. _Now._ Those Saxons have already butchered Gjuki, and they have the Order among them. It won’t be much longer until my brother is the one on their chopping block. We need to get him out of there as soon as possible.”

Oswald remained unswayed. “I understand your urgency, Eivor, but we _must_ approach this realistically. Not many people walk away from Forangal with their lives, and for good reason. We only have one chance to do this right. Better to wait a little longer and ensure we’re prepared, rather than march straight to our deaths.”

The king turned to Broder. “You were there, Broder. What’s your opinion on the situation in Wedenscire? Can Sigurd afford to wait?”

The man furrowed his brow in uncertainty. “I... I don’t know, my lord. It’s difficult to say. He’s managed to survive thus far, but his captives have become unpredictable recently. Relentless. They’ve even forced Sigurd to convert to Christianity.”

That took Oswald by surprise. “What? When did this happen?”

“Just after Gjuki died. I overheard the nobles in the castle speaking of a baptism before I left. One of them was against the conversion, but the rest decided to go through with it.”

Eivor’s expression flattened with frustration. “You see? We must go _now._ Before they try anything else. I’m done cowering in the shadows.”

“But what if--”

“--Eivor’s right.” Valdis jumped in. “Those people are animals, Oswald. You’ve seen for yourself what they did to the Raven Clan; what they did to Randvi. If there’s any chance we can save Sigurd from the same fate, we need to take it. We’ve idled for long enough.”

Oswald was at a loss for words. “...I really don’t know how this is going to work, you all. We have enough forces to put up a decent fight, but... assaulting _Forangal Castle?_ That’s a completely different story.”

Broder offered his own thoughts. “Do not be so quick to dismiss the unlikely, my lord. It happens more often than you think. Those are Gjuki’s words. Not mine.”

“Have faith in our strength, husband.” Valdis continued. “We are warriors. _Drengir._ Children of Odin. We were born and bred for this sort of thing. We will not fall so easily to these Saxons. Let us go.”

Oswald fell silent at his friends’ arguments and sighed in defeat, conflicted on what to do next.

On one hand, he sympathized with Eivor’s eagerness to storm Forangal’s gates, but on the other, he honestly didn’t know if their soldiers could survive such an endeavor. Their army was just large enough that the plan could’ve succeeded with the help of a miracle, but despite his youth, Oswald was world-weary enough to know that battles typically didn’t favor the disadvantaged.

Anything could’ve gone wrong during this assault. Aegenwulf could’ve had more forces than they anticipated, an ambush could’ve stopped them along the way, or -- worst case scenario -- Sigurd could’ve already been dead. There was an abundance of unknowns lurking around the corner, and with so many risks obscuring the path ahead, Oswald wasn’t sure if war was the answer. At least, not for now.

Still, he feared what could’ve happened to Sigurd if they waited too long. Based on Broder’s report, it sounded like the man was going through hell at the moment. If there was any opportunity for them to rescue him from Aegenwulf’s clutches, Oswald felt complied to seize it. 

Eivor did the same for him when he was taken prisoner at Burgh Castle, so it only seemed right to return the favor.

“...Alright, you three.” Oswald finally agreed. “We’ll march on Forangal Castle as soon as we are able. Eivor, summon your allies. Tell them to meet us here. When they’ve arrived, we’ll begin making our way to Wedenscire. In the meantime, the rest of us will focus on the assault. My troops are yours to command as well.”

The viking gave him a firm nod. “Thank you, Oswald. I won’t fail you.”

“I have confidence in your abilities. I just hope that it’ll be enough. As for the rest of you...” 

Oswald linked his hands together behind his back. “Get some rest. And prepare as much as you can. We don’t know what sort of resistance we’ll face in Wedenscire, but I think it’s safe to assume that our forces will be stretched thin. Do everything in your ability to ensure you are ready for this assault, and keep your guard up. We have evidence that the Order of the Ancients is involved now, so Lord only knows what Algar will have up his sleeve.”

Broder stepped in. “I’ll join the assault too.”

“No,” Oswald refused. “you need to rest. You’ve been through enough.”

“With all due respect, your Majesty, Gjuki is dead because of my incompetence. Out of honor, I cannot simply sit by and watch while your people risk their lives for a mistake _I_ made. I’m still here because of that man. This is the _least_ I can do for him.”

The king decided to grant him permission. “...Very well, then. I expect to see you at Forangal. As for you two, spread word of the assault to our soldiers. I want them to be prepared as well.”

Eivor nodded. “As you wish.”

“Good. Then let’s get to work. Sigurd’s life depends on our efficiency, and there’s no telling what will happen once Aegenwulf realizes who’s behind the assault. From what I understand, the man is growing more and more unstable by the day. Brace yourselves for anything... and may your gods watch over you all.”


End file.
